


Falling Through the Multiverse

by njw



Series: Where's My Goddamn Dinosaur [7]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Alternate Universe Gone Wild, BAMF Tim Drake, Batfamily Feels, But Break it First, Careening Wildly Through the Multiverse, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fix-It, Humor, JayTim Week 2020, JayTimWeek, M/M, Multiverse, Referenced Character Deaths, Time Travel, the Clench
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-04
Updated: 2020-06-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:35:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 36,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24540895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/njw/pseuds/njw
Summary: Tim wakes up in the Cave and opens his eyes. He glances around, his heart seizing at what he sees. The cup of coffee Alfred set at his elbow earlier is gone. Based on the undisturbed layer of dust which blankets the surface of the desk, it looks like it was never there in the first place.“No,” he whispers, throat tightening. This isn’t right.The feeling that he is somewhere else, somewhere he isn’t supposed to be, grows exponentially as he takes in a hundred tiny differences in his surroundings, from the level of the Batcomputer tech to the contours of the chair he’s sitting in. This wasn’t supposed to happen.He realizes with a growing sense of horror that if he’s fallen into a new universe again—this time without the impetus of having recently activated the device—then there’s no guarantee it won’t happen again. And again.Oh, god.*This story is standalone and can be read separately from the rest of the series.*For thetumblr Jaytim Weekday four free prompt.
Relationships: Tim Drake/Jason Todd
Series: Where's My Goddamn Dinosaur [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1007550
Comments: 448
Kudos: 1033
Collections: Ashes' Library, JayTimWeek





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So way back in early January, Nanimok dropped this awesome tumblr prompt on the Red on Red Jaytim server asking people to nominate a person most likely to make a 100K fic about it, and immediately nominated Chibinightowl and me. Themandylion | Clarityhiding then added some lovely suggestions about how I could throw Other Tim at the prompt. I ended up liking the idea so much, I decided to write it for Jaytim week. I didn’t make it to 100K words (thank goodness!), but 36K happened. 
> 
> The tumblr prompt that inspired this story is [here](https://thelampofthemoment.tumblr.com/post/189023729490) and belongs to [thelampofthemoment](https://thelampofthemoment.tumblr.com/), who was kind enough to give me permission to use it for this story.
> 
> Thank you, thelampofthemoment, for your wonderful prompt! Also, thanks to Nani for sharing the prompt, and to Mandy and Chibi for the encouragement! 
> 
> Enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning this chapter for description of canon-inspired disease outbreak (alternate universe where the Clench wasn’t contained). I swear I started plotting this thing back in January, before things really went off the rails with the current pandemic.

Red Robin is shaking as his gauntleted hand closes on the device. He lifts it out of the triple-locked box with all of the reverence and care he has time for, which is to say, none. This is it, the one chance to avert disaster, to stop it all from ever happening. He wobbles as he carries the tech across the Cave, then collapses back into the seat at the Batcomputer. The main screen is still displaying the file that gave him back a dim flicker of hope.

He turns the device, willing his hands steady and hardly daring to breathe as he checks the interface and power supply. This is the only possible chance, and even with it, he’s calculated the odds. They’re not good. The tech is risky, just as likely to blow him up along with a good portion of the eastern seaboard as it is to successfully send him back in time one week. He forces his breathing under control as he acknowledges that will not be a problem. He saw the footage, heard the reports before the comms went chillingly quiet, and he knows.

There's no one left out there to worry about.

His head spins sickeningly as hellish memories from the past few days start to play out in his mind again. He reels it back and concentrates on the here and now. There’s no use in remembering the way his family and friends fought against the attacking aliens, gave it everything they had, and still lost _._ It is definitely not constructive to dwell on the bombs afterward that resulted in the destruction of everything above ground level across most of the continental United States, and probably the rest of the world as well.

The Cave on lockdown is reinforced, resistant to every potential outcome a paranoid Batman could come up with over the years, and so Tim keeps surviving. Alone. The thought sends him reeling again, but he pulls it back, forcing useless emotion out and order into his thoughts. If he gets this right, he can fix it.

_I can still fix this._

Tim focuses on the device, locking away all other thoughts and emotions. No need to process his grief, fear, and loss when in a few minutes he’ll either have everyone back, one week ago with foreknowledge to prevent this whole mess, or he’ll be dead and beyond sorrow’s reach.

As an added complication, even if the device does work as advertised, the potential energy produced by rolling back _everything_ for one week—the accumulated energy of every action that would have been during that week—will be _immense._

According to Bruce’s recordings of the villain who originally possessed this device, that extra energy will be focused on the user. While the user and the original universe go back in time one week, an identical copy of the user will be created, like a reflection or echo, and that copy will be propelled much farther into the past, into a new alternate universe which will spin off and diverge from the original universe from whatever moment in time the copy lands. Tim’s head hurts thinking about the physics involved, but Bruce checked the math meticulously and it all fits.

Everything on the device appears to be intact. He closes his eyes, calculating. Based on the energy involved for a one week reset, he’s looking at a minimum displacement of about five years for the copy. His eyes sting as he fully grasps that if this works, one Tim will get to reunite with his friends and family, hold them and speak to them again, and work together to unleash all the contingencies and strategies he’s come up with to kick those invading alien assholes the fuck out, and the other Tim… won’t. He’ll wake up somewhen, isolated and traumatized, without friends, family, or any allies at all.

Well, shit. Whatever, at least Other Tim will know it worked. And he’s never minded the idea of sacrificing himself to save others. He confirms the calibration of the device and pushes the big red button. Of fucking course there’s a big red button—supervillains are so predictable.

His last thought as the lights explode in his head and he tastes color is, _I hope computers are a thing whenever Other Tim lands. I’d hate to be put on trial for witchcraft. Fuck it, if I overshoot I’m gonna ride a goddamn dinosaur. Hell. Yes._

* * *

Tim wakes up in the Cave and opens his eyes. Instantly, he registers the chaos around him and jerks to his feet as instinct kicks in. He immediately begins scanning his surroundings, taking in every detail. As he processes the sensory input, part of him desperately tries not to think about the fact that this looks an awful lot like a scene from one of his worst recurring nightmares.

The equipment and setup in the Bat Cave is easily recognizable, matching his memories from his early to mid-teen years. He could probably narrow down the date range if he wanted based on exact details of the items he can see, but he doesn’t have to.

The outbreak maps and grim epidemiological projections splashed across the screens of the Batcomputer tell him everything he needs to know about when he is. He grimaces. This is not a moment in time he would have chosen to relive.

It’s the Clench.

He feels a quick stab of envy for the version of him who is probably waking up in his own universe right about now. It isn’t fair. That guy just has to fight off an alien invasion and then he can relax.

 _Well, one thing’s for damn sure,_ he thinks, watching in horror as Alfred sways while crossing the Cave with a tray clutched in his shaking hands. _I’m Other Tim, and this is not what I signed up for. I want my goddamn dinosaur._

Well, he doesn’t get a choice in the matter. He frowns as he realizes the energy release only took him about three years back when he was shunted into the new universe. It should have been closer to five years—at least, that’s what he was expecting based on his calculations. Odd. He makes a note to run some tests later and try to figure out where the extra energy went.

First, though, he needs to see what he can do to help with the current crisis unfolding in this universe.

As Tim stares at Alfred, puzzled over the mismatch between his own memories and what he sees, the exhausted man nearly collapses. He jerks forward, planning to help, but Alfred manages to catch himself at the last moment. The man looks terrible, drawn and tired, with sweat beading on his brow. He looks sick.

Why doesn’t he remember Alfred being that worn down? Oh, wait. Tim was probably unconscious or feverish at the time. He manages to stop himself from glancing reflexively over to the medbay, but it takes a supreme effort of will to resist. He’s pretty sure that he’s not ready yet to see his fourteen year-old self, fighting for his life against the Ebola variant that sickened and killed so many during the outbreak.

“Alfred!” Bruce’s choked cry draws Tim’s attention over to the medbay anyway. “I think he’s getting worse.”

Tim frowns. He’s pretty sure something about this isn't right. Alfred should be caring for Timmy while Bruce is out investigating the case and trying to chase down a cure. What is he doing here?

Bruce is seated in a chair pulled close to the single occupied bed in the well-lit portion of the medbay. Tim briefly notes that the rest of the medbay is shrouded in darkness, the other beds barely visible, but he barely has time to note the oddity before his gaze catches on Bruce again. He’s in the Batsuit with the cowl pushed back to expose his haggard face. He looks awful, his eyes red with deep shadows under them and his face lined with exhaustion, mouth taut with distress.

His hair looks unkempt, sticking up in some places and plastered to his scalp with sweat in others. There’s sweat beading on his exposed skin and he looks like he’s suppressing shivers. There are a few scattered patches of red, irritated skin on his face.

If Tim didn’t know better, he would think both Bruce and Alfred were sick. But that didn’t happen—right? Surely, it would have been in the case report. Even if they chose not to tell him for some reason, he would have learned about it later while going through the file.

Tim looks past Bruce to the bed beyond him and immediately regrets it. The sight of the still figure lying there, surrounded by bulky medical equipment and tubes, brings back way too many disjointed, painful memories of his own infection.

He still remembers the creeping fear, always present even through the haze of fever and sedatives. He’d felt so powerless and useless against the knowledge that there was nothing he could do to help. Every time he closed his eyes, he was terrified he would never open them again. What he remembers most, though, is the pain.

Everything hurt. The constant headache, the bone-deep muscle aches, the stomach and other pain that intensified as the virus took hold—it was the worst pain of his life. Even the lifesaving interventions were painful, the tube down his throat that helped him to breathe agonizing to swallow around. Alfred tried so hard to make him comfortable, but his acquired resistance to sedatives and pain relievers worked against them.

His alternate self looks so small, almost like a child. It’s difficult to believe that he’s going to be fifteen in a few months.

“He’s getting worse,” Bruce says hoarsely, his jaw and fists clenching like he wants to punch something. There’s no monster here for him to fight. He reaches out a shaking hand and rests it gently on Timmy’s wrist, careful to avoid the mess of tubes trailing off the bed toward the line of beeping, whirring machines. 

Alfred hurries over clutching his tray, his own exhaustion apparently forgotten in his concern for his patient.

This is wrong. Bruce should be out tracking down the survivors who have recovered in order to attempt to develop a cure, or racing after the criminals who released the virus in the first place. Tim knows that Azrael is the one who found the evidence that the contagion was engineered and distributed intentionally, but Batman didn’t just wait around in the Bat Cave while Azrael was following his leads. Batman did everything possible to solve the mystery and find a cure himself.

Tim frowns, trying to puzzle out what he knows about the timeline for the Clench outbreak and try to reconcile it with what he sees here. He was busy fighting for his life in the medbay for most of it, obviously, but he’s pretty sure that Batman didn’t come back to the Cave at all during the time Tim was this ill, not even for a quick visit. More importantly… He freezes, staring at the medbay.

He sucks in a startled breath as his brain fully registers what he sees. The other beds in the medbay aren’t empty, after all. They’re occupied. It’s just—their occupants, silent and huddled under white sheets, don’t look like they’re alive. Their chests aren’t moving and they are not hooked up to any equipment to indicate lifesaving medical care is being carried out. What?

Tim can see some of their faces. He desperately wishes he couldn’t.

This didn’t happen. This wasn’t supposed to happen. What the hell is going on?

“Is that Azrael?” he blurts out in horror, staring at a figure he wishes he didn’t recognize. “What happened to him? He was supposed to be the one who figured out the cure!”

_Oh god. Something is wrong. Something has gone terribly wrong. This isn’t my universe—I didn’t time travel to a different point in my own history, after all. I’m… somewhere else. I’m in the middle of someone else’s unfolding tragedy._

Bruce tries to leap to his feet and ends up staggering, leaning heavily on the bed as he pivots to place himself between Tim and the vulnerable figure in the bed. “Who are you and how did you get in here?” he asks. Even half-dead, he still manages to sound threatening.

Nearby, Alfred quietly palms a syringe from the tray he’s carrying as he watches calmly. Tim gets a strong sense that he’s perfectly willing to use it to defend his family.

He swallows. “I’m Tim Drake,” he says simply, glad that the cowl isn’t on so they can see his face. “From another universe, I’m guessing. Because _this_ sure as heck didn’t happen in mine.”

 _Random multiverse component,_ he adds to his mental description of the device that sent him here. _It would’ve been nice to know about that beforehand. Oh well. I’m here now—I have to help!_

Bruce grimaces and sinks to his knees, losing the battle to remain standing. His voice sounds agonized when he replies. “Tim. You—you need to go back where you came from, now. The Clench is here—it’s an Ebola variant, highly contagious. Near hundred percent lethality. It’s already spread beyond the city. I fear it has spread beyond the state. I’m afraid—it’s a global pandemic now. You have to go and save yourself—” He breaks off, groaning and clutching his midsection.

Tim goes cold. Azrael managed to get the cure to the hospital in time to contain the outbreak in his universe. He allows himself one shuddering, dread-filled breath as his thoughts spin out of control imagining the consequences of a pandemic like Bruce is describing, and then he dives into action. The best thing he can do for anyone right now is work fast.

“Bruce, Alfred—lie down before you fall down. Get some fluids if you can manage it. I’ll take care of you and Timmy as soon as I have the cures synthesized. Don’t worry—we’ve got this.” He hopes so, anyway. The alternative doesn’t bear thinking about.

Tim spins back to face the Batcomputer, his fingers flying to input the root access codes he knows Bruce implemented years ago in case the computer is ever subverted by a villain and Batman needs to regain access after losing control.

He knows the current rotation of passwords and how Bruce thinks, so he extrapolates the patterns back three years and he’s in in under a minute. Bruce will receive a notification, but under the circumstances, Tim is pretty sure he’ll be forgiving. His fingers fumble as he pops open the compartment on his bandolier which contains the datahedron he used back in his original universe to store all the files he thought might come in handy if he ended up being the Tim who traveled to the recent past.

He had expected to use the data as a guide to prevent future crimes and disasters from occurring, a kind of cheat sheet for the near future which he could use once he landed at some point in the past of his own world’s timeline.

The possibility that he might be using it in _someone else’s_ past never occurred to him. Hopefully the universes are a close enough match for this to work, or at least provide a helpful starting point. Another groan from Bruce carries across the Cave and Tim winces. This has to work. The others don’t have much time.

His fingers fly across the keyboard, calling up the data from his universe about the engineered virus, along with the formulas for the suite of drugs that worked to treat it. Antivirals, synthetic antibodies, and the vaccine—all three of them are urgently needed to treat and contain the outbreak. They _have_ to work. 

Praying to anyone who might be listening, he sends the formulas over to the synthesizers. Thank Batman for the vast manufacturing capacity built into the Bat Cave. It seems like overkill most of the time to have such highly specialized equipment and substances available just on the off chance it might be needed one day, but right now, it’s the only thing giving them a fighting chance.

“Tim,” Bruce says from right behind him, because _of course_ he didn’t listen and lie down like a normal mortally ill person in possession of even a modicum of common sense. Tim turns to remonstrate with him and breaks off. Bruce is staring at the main screen, his eyes wide. “You—but this is—” He breaks off, his gaze continuing to flicker rapidly over the screen. “A cure,” he breathes.

Tim knows how to read the micro expressions in that voice and face. That’s hope. He only hopes that he won’t let those hopes down.

“I think so,” Tim says, then winces. “I can’t be sure until we run a comparison of the genetic code between the version of the virus here and the one we had back in my home universe. Our universes might not be a close enough match for this to work as-is. We can probably adapt the formulas if we have to. At least, it should give us a basic starting point. But I’m really hoping the antivirals and synthetic antibodies will work without having to alter them. If they don’t…”

They turn as one to look at the trembling figure in the bed. Alfred is manning the chair now, his gaunt hand shaking as he rests it on Timmy’s slim, pale hand.

Tim looks back at Bruce. They both know the Tim of this universe doesn’t have time to spare.

Silently, he turns to the opposite screen, where a three dimensional model of a single-strand of RNA most likely represents the genetic structure of the virus.

“I’ll run a comparison of the nucleotide sequences,” Bruce says softly, reaching over and keying in the appropriate commands. “That should give us an idea of whether your formulas will be appropriate here.”

Neither of them says anything about the fact that Bruce is obviously sick, or makes any attempt to minimize the risk of contagion. Tim dropped into the Bat Cave with no protective equipment. He’s already been exposed.

Tim drums his fingers, staring avidly at the screens as the Batcomputer runs the analysis. As he watches, the percent match between the virus strand from his universe and this one grows. Thirty percent. Forty. Red areas begin to highlight as the analysis flags sections of the RNA chain which don’t match. Some of those differences likely account for the variable of how much more contagious the virus seems to be in this universe in comparison to his.

The real question is, is it close enough for the medicine to work? The vaccine, antivirals, and antibodies all work by identifying short portions of the viral genetic code. As long as those sections are still a match, there’s a strong chance they’ll still work.

 _Come on,_ he thinks, tensing. _We need more. If we’re going to have a real chance of cutting this thing off before it turns into the worst humanitarian crisis of the century, we need a better match._

Fifty percent. Sixty.

He adds highlights to the display in a different color, marking the sections of viral genetic code which need to match for the vaccine and treatments to function. None of the red portions overlap with those sections—yet. 

A soft chime wrenches his attention away from the screen and over to the synthesizer. The first batch of potential treatments—a dozen doses of the antiviral drug cocktail and another dozen doses of the synthetic antibodies—is ready. The vaccine is still being prepared, but that’s okay. What they really need right now is the cure. The preventative can wait a little longer.

Before Tim can say anything, Bruce strides over to the synthesizer, preps a dose of each drug, and carefully plunges the first hypodermic needle into his own arm. He depresses the plunger, forcing the experimental antiviral medication into his body, then reaches calmly for the syringe containing the synthetic antibody treatment and adiminsters that, as well.

“Bruce!” Tim rushes after him, reaching out to steady the man as he sways. “Wait—” He trails off, realizing it’s pointless now.

He would have prefered to wait until the computer was done comparing the genetic sequences of the viruses so that they would have a better idea what to expect, but it’s understandable that Bruce wouldn’t want to wait. Knowing him, there’s no way he’d want to waste any time, or consider allowing anyone else to take the risk testing potential antidotes. Of course he used them on himself immediately.

Tim should have expected this. He blames his own exhaustion and the fact that he was caught off-balance by the surprise multiverse hop. He shakes his head. Might as well get some data out of it now that Bruce has gone ahead and administered the drugs, highly inadvisable and medically questionable as this is. “Does anything feel different?”

He remembers the way it felt recovering from the Clench—once he’d had the cure, he had still been exhausted and uncomfortable, but the pain began to lessen. It seemed to lift by degrees from the moment he received the cure, although that might just be the fact that he was drifting in and out of consciousness at the time. Some of it might have just been due to relief as well, and the belief that he would get better eventually.

Bruce blinks, taking a deep breath. “Possibly. The pain…” He trails off, then swallows, his face visibly losing some of the drawn expression as he straightens. “It doesn’t matter. We need to keep going.”

There’s a soft whimper from the direction of the bed. Tim closes his eyes and swallows, fighting back the sense memory of a stiff tube blocking his throat. He half-expects to feel the terrible pain that comes from swallowing or attempting to talk while intubated.

_This whole thing is hitting way too close to home._

Tim sends Bruce a worried look. “I don’t think he has much time left, B.” He eyes the other doses waiting in the synthesizer. This isn’t his universe. It’s not his call. If Bruce insists on waiting until they’re positive the drugs work, he’s not certain what he’ll do. He can’t imagine just standing by and watching Alfred and Timmy suffer, but…

In the end, he doesn’t have to make that choice.

Bruce nods resolutely and then carefully gathers up two more doses of each drug before carrying them over to the medbay. He throws a glance over his shoulder after he administers the treatment, taking advantage of Timmy’s IV line for safe, efficient delivery.

Timmy stirs faintly. Bruce gazes at the boy for a moment, and Tim has to turn away from the anguished expression on his face. Batman isn’t supposed to look like that.

He looks back at the Batcomputer, glancing over to check the progress of the RNA comparison. He blinks, then looks again. “Oh my god,” he whispers, relief crashing through him as he stares in shock. For the first time since he landed in this universe, it feels like something is going right. “It’s a perfect match for the key sections.”

This universe must be very close to his own. Theories about how the device he used may interact with the multiverse race through his mind, but he firmly pushes them aside. For now. The fact that the RNA sequence is a hundred percent match for the portions of the genetic code targeted by both the vaccine and the treatments is more than good news, it’s a complete game changer.

This is _everything._ Not only will the antiviral drugs and synthetic antibodies almost certainly be effective in treating the illness caused by the virus, the vaccine should be effective in preventing its further spread.

Tim turns, ready to share the good news. The words die on his lips as he catches sight of Bruce.

The man is staring at the Batcomputer, an expression of disbelief and naked hope on his worn face. “Send those formulas to Gotham City Hospital, the CDC, the WHO, and the JLA,” he orders hoarsely. “Between them, they’ll be able to coordinate getting the information out to everywhere it’s needed.”

Tim nods and moves to obey his orders, glancing back as he does so to make sure the others are okay on their own. He half-expects Bruce to collapse at any moment.

Bruce sinks to his knees at Alfred’s side and gently administers the drugs to the old man, who is still seated in the chair by Timmy’s sickbed. As he depresses the plungers, one after the other, Bruce whispers, “And now we’ll just pray to God it isn’t already too late.”

Tim nods, a lump in his throat as he follows through on sending the critical data out. From what Bruce said, this is already a global pandemic, a tragedy unfolding at an unfathomable scale. Even introducing the drugs and a vaccine isn’t going to undo all of the damage and deaths that have already occurred, or the ones which will happen during the time it takes to scale up production of the medicines and distribute them worldwide. He doesn’t want to imagine the scale of human suffering that this world is about to experience.

He has a sinking suspicion that he isn’t going to have to use his imagination. After all, he doesn’t even know what universe he’s in. He has no idea how to get home. Even if he could return to his own world, what would he find? He’s just a copy. There’s another Tim there. Would they even want him, if he found a way back?

He pushes those thoughts down. They’re not constructive right now.

Tim still doesn’t know why he’s here instead of at some point in his own timeline as he had expected, but it doesn’t matter. These people still need help, and he’s going to do his best to provide it.

“Done,” he says as he finishes sending out the urgent communications. He sets up an alert so the computer will notify them of any responses, and then gets up and heads over to the medbay. Alfred is rising shakily to his feet. He’s clutching his mouth as he looks down at the patient, tears in his eyes. Bruce is over there too, resting a hand on Timmy’s hair and gazing down at him with an impossibly tender expression as the boy blinks open his bright blue eyes.

Tim’s pretty sure Bruce has no idea that he’s crying.

“Hey B,” Timmy signs with one hand, his cracked lips stretching in a tired, drawn attempt at a smile around the tube. “Guess I made it through after all.”

It’s hard to believe he’s fourteen, only three years younger than Tim—it feels like there’s a lifetime of experience between them. He bites his lip, feeling the hot sting of tears as he watches the tender family moment. He feels simultaneously like an unwelcome voyeur and also terribly alone.

Timmy spots Tim over Bruce’s shoulder and frowns. He blinks slowly, then looks back at Bruce with a mildly concerned expression. He tries to swallow and a spasm of pain crosses his face when the breathing tube interferes. He signs slowly, still staring at Tim, “Uh, I should probably tell you I’m pretty sure I’m still hallucinating.”

Tim can’t help it. It’s been a really stressful day. He starts to laugh, softly at first and then louder, verging on hysterical. No one seems to mind. Timmy just listens to Bruce’s terse explanation and then shrugs, soon drifting off to sleep again under the attentive gaze of his caretakers.

As Alfred allows Bruce to coax him into one of the unoccupied beds for a rest, Tim slips away. There’s plenty to do, and he shouldn’t intrude on the family any more than he has to.

He’s not sure how much later it is when Bruce steps up behind him and rests a gentle hand on his shoulder. Tim twitches in surprise, then blinks, surprised by how dry and achy his eyes are. He’s been tracking the outbreak on the Batcomputer, trying to help coordinate the JLA efforts to disseminate the cure to the places that need it the most urgently. It’s a monumental task.

Tim turns to check on the others, feeling vaguely guilty that he’s been so focused on his task. He’s relieved to see that Alfred and Timmy appear to be sleeping soundly on their beds in the medbay. The other beds are mercifully empty now. Bruce must have taken it upon himself to carry their occupants to the cold storage room until arrangements can be made.

Tim bites his lip, feeling another surge of guilt that he didn’t help with that. There’s also a shameful curl of relief that he didn’t have to look and see who else was lost. After all, as far as he knows, he’s here to stay. This is his world now, for better or worse. He doesn’t think he’s ready to find out who else isn’t in it anymore.

“I told you to go,” Bruce says in a voice rough with exhaustion. He should be in bed recovering like the others. Of course, he won’t do that. He’s going to push himself to the point of collapse and then keep going, as long as Gotham needs him. “You took a terrible risk staying here to help us instead of returning to your home universe.”

“I couldn’t,” Tim says simply, giving him a wry, unhappy smile. “I don’t know how.” There’s an unwanted tremor in his voice.

Bruce’s eyes widen minutely, the only visible sign that he’s been taken by surprise. “Tim,” he says, and then pauses. After a moment, he tries again. “I’m sorry to hear that. Tim, I can never do anything sufficient to thank you for what you have done here tonight. But I promise, I will do everything in my power to help you.”

“Thanks, B,” Tim says, feeling strangely moved. At least if he’s going to be stuck in a world that isn’t his own, it’s one like this. A place where he can help, with people he cares about.

Bruce nods, then sits down beside him to help. It’s been a long night, and it’s about to get longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Tim, falling backwards through time:** “I’m totes gonna ride a dinosaur, heck yeah—” *Lands in random universe in the middle of the Clench outbreak* “Oh shit”  
>  **Other Bruce, visibly infected and only conscious by sheer force of will:** *Looms menacingly while swaying slightly* “Who are you and why are you here?” *Cracks knuckles*  
>  **Tim, laughing nervously as he zips into action:** “I’m Tim, and I guess I’m here to help?” *Shrugs, gets the ball rolling on stopping pandemic and sprinkles panacea-like cure on everyone in the Cave* “Done and done!”  
>  **Other Bruce, taking a deep breath and straightening as fever, rash, and other symptoms all miraculously abate with medically improbable speed:** “I suppose we can skip the interrogation cell, just this once”  
>  **Tim, deeply relieved:** “Yay!” *Turns to Batcomputer and sees exactly how much work there still is to help put the brakes on this worldwide disaster* “Aw, crap” *Takes a deep breath and dives in*


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning this chapter for referenced involuntary commitment.

Tim wakes up in the Cave and opens his eyes. He glances around, his heart seizing at what he sees. The cup of coffee Alfred set at his elbow earlier is gone. Based on the undisturbed layer of dust which blankets the surface of the desk, it looks as though it was never there in the first place.

“No,” he whispers, his throat tightening. This isn’t right.

The feeling that he is somewhere else, somewhere he isn’t supposed to be, grows exponentially as he takes in a hundred tiny differences in his surroundings, from the level of the Batcomputer tech to the contours of the chair he’s sitting in. He struggles to fight back the deluge of evidence, unwilling to admit the possibility that he has somehow slipped into another universe again. This wasn’t supposed to happen. The device functioned in an unexpected way, sure, but once he was in the new universe, he was supposed to stay there.

He realizes with a growing sense of horror that if he has fallen into a new universe again—this time without the impetus of having recently activated the device—then there’s no guarantee it won’t happen again. And again.

 _Oh, god._

“No!” Tim jerks to his feet, looking around wildly for another explanation, anything so he doesn’t have to face the possibility that he’s going to spend the rest of his life falling through the multiverse.

He doesn’t find one.

There are no hospital beds in the medbay, just the standard cots. All of the extra equipment that Bruce brought in early last year to mass produce doses of antiviral drugs, synthetic antibodies, and vaccinations to help combat the pandemic, is missing. Tim glances at the desk. His case files—all dealing with people who took advantage of the ongoing medical crisis to perpetrate scams or otherwise skim a profit off the suffering of others—are gone.

There is no evidence that they were ever there in the first place.

“Oh, god.” Tim’s knees go weak and he sinks to the ground, devastated. He was just working on case reports. He was planning to go upstairs in a few minutes to join Bruce, Timmy, and Dick for dinner. Alfred was making pizza. His heart twists and the lump in his throat tightens painfully. For a moment, all he can think about is how delicious Alfred’s pizza is and how unfair it is that now Dick and Timmy will eat his share.

A second later, his eyes sting as the feelings of loss truly hit. Who is going to help Timmy prank the others now? They were unstoppable together.

There’s still so much work to do, too—the pandemic wiped out so many people before they managed to disseminate the treatments and the vaccine widely. Many, far too many, were too far gone to save even with the treatments. The amount of effort and innovation required to rebuild after so many healthcare systems and economies collapsed or were severely damaged by the prolonged social and economic consequences of the pandemic has been tremendous.

He has spent the past year settling into what he thought was his new home and helping with that rebuilding. He was making a _life._

He even managed to go back to school and finally get his high school diploma. He had to set a good example for Timmy, after all. God, Timmy. And Bruce, and Dick, and _Alfred…_ They’re not going to know what happened to him. All they’ll have is the footage from the security cameras in the Bat Cave. It will probably just show him blinking out of existence between one moment and the next, disappearing from their lives as quickly and unexpectedly as he came.

He didn’t even get to say goodbye.

Tim sniffs and only realizes that he’s crying when his vision blurs. Even as he rocks with the realization of what he has lost— _again—_ his mind is already starting to put everything away in a box. He’ll set these feelings aside so he can function, just like he has always done with the pieces of his life that still hurt too much to think about.

Part of his brain is hard at work analyzing his situation, adding details to the working theories he has going about what went wrong with the device originally. Dismally, he realizes that things are not looking good. If he has truly gotten himself unstuck in the multiverse somehow—

He forces himself not to think about the fact that he has to start from scratch again. He _definitely_ doesn’t think about the possibility that he might never be able to stay in one universe for long. His heart starts to slam and his breathing picks up speed at the thought.

Nope, not going to think about that. He’s also going to willfully avoid thinking about the possibility that has been haunting him for a while now—if this aspect of their understanding of the device was so flawed, what about the main function? Did the first Tim _really_ go back in time a week and manage to avert the alien invasion in his original universe?

Or did everything go wrong? What if there was no copy, after all, and he just sent himself careening through the multiverse for no reason? He imagines his original world, still burned out and empty, all of his efforts come to nothing in the end, all his sacrifices for nothing. He shudders.

_No. I can’t accept that._

It doesn’t bear thinking about. He shakes his head. Right now, he needs to focus on figuring out what happened here.

Looking around, what little hope he has remaining that this might turn out to be some bizarre, cruel prank—maybe Dick has a well-hidden mean streak?—crumbles. This Bat Cave is deserted and covered in dust, with no sign of it having been used by anyone recently. Based on the accumulation of dust, it has probably been empty for at least a year.

Next, Tim turns to the Batcomputer and is surprised to find that it still works. He accesses the most recent entries on the mainframe with caution, half-afraid of what he’s going to find. On some level, he’s expecting the daily reports to just cut off at some point, in the midst of one catastrophe or another. He’s braced for the worst as he begins to read. His brows rise in surprise when he checks the current date and then looks at the most recent reports.

Well, that’s unexpected. There have been entries in the past day. Someone seems to have been updating the Batcomputer regularly—apparently, they’re just doing so from another location. It looks like the Bunker beneath Wayne Tower is the current headquarters for the Bats, and has been for some time.

Maybe the situation here isn’t too bad, after all. The Cave may have been abandoned, but someone—he checks the log and sees that it’s Nightwing—is still out there, fighting the good fight. He clicks back, skimming the dailies until he finds the last entry input by Batman. When he sees the date on the entry, he goes cold.

“Darkseid,” Tim whispers, closing his eyes at the wave of loneliness and despondence evoked by that name. His year traveling the world alone after Bruce’s death is still one of the lowest points of his life. He takes a deep breath, then forces himself to open his eyes and dig into the files.

It doesn’t take long to figure out what happened here. Everything starts falling into place as he pieces together the sequence of events and finds the point at which events began to diverge from his own universe.

“Oh,” Tim breathes, reading a succinct report. He stares at the stark words for a long moment, then checks the security footage from the Cave to verify what he just read. He wants it to be a mistake or a tasteless joke.

It’s not. He feels sick. “Oh my god.”

Batman died at Darkseid’s hands, just like in his universe. Just like in his universe, Jason Todd lost it and put on the cowl, terrorizing the criminal underworld as a Batman who killed until Dick Grayson stopped him and reluctantly donned the cowl himself. Also like in his universe, Dick Grayson chose to take Robin away from Tim Drake and gave the suit to Damian Wayne, despite the latter’s worrying levels of aggression and lack of understanding of any kind of morals or true justice. Just like in his own universe, Tim Drake tried to convince everyone that Batman was still alive.

Unlike his universe, Dick Grayson—overwhelmed and overworked dealing with a feral child and his two apparently insane little brothers—committed both Jason Todd and Tim Drake to Arkham.

Tim leans over the side of the chair and throws up.

Then he forces himself to straighten and study all of the files and footage again, going so far as to dive into the Arkham systems and check the security cameras in the cells and common areas of the low-security portion of the asylum. He’s surprised to see Tim and Jason are kept on the same floor in adjoining cells. They appear to have developed a grudging friendship during their incarceration.

Tim blinks, momentarily taken aback by the sight of Jason’s deep auburn hair. Apparently, this Jason is a redhead. It’s a good look. Shaking off his surprise, he focuses on the prisoners, trying to get an idea of their current state. His brows rise as he realizes what’s going on. Huh.

They’re engaged in what seems to be a pun contest, able to converse with one another through the bars of their minimum security—for Arkham—cells.

“Fuck, I could really go for a chilidog right now. Hey Replacement, go break outta here and get me a chilidog.” Jason pulls himself up to complete another chin-up on the exercise bar in his really decently appointed cell. He’s not wearing a shirt and there’s sweat glistening on his skin. It catches the light as his muscles ripple and tense.

Timmy throws him an amused glance through the bars from where he’s reading in his own cell. Can’t Arkham even afford proper padded rooms? Their low-security wing is a complete joke. Tim frowns, wondering why Jason and Timmy haven’t managed to break out of there yet. It should be easy for them, considering their training and skillsets.

“Why? You inhaled so many eggs at breakfast this morning, I don’t eggs-actly think you have room for anything else. God, this is why you’re so huge, isn’t it? You’re secretly a bottomless pit.” Timmy rolls his eyes.

“Those eggs were eggs-cellent, fuck you very much Timbo. Unlike the Grade F mystery slop we’re going to have for lunch, unless you bring me my goddamn chilidog.”

“Knock it off, you guys,” a visibly tired guard says, eyeing them warily from the hall as he pauses in his rounds outside their cells. “God, don’t you two ever stop?”

Timmy grins sharply. “I think that’s a little egg-streme, don’t you, Jay? After all, our puns are eggs-ceptional.”

“Eggs-actly,” Jason says with a mean smirk. “Fuck, Phil, you should be egg-static you just gotta deal with us and not the goddamn Joker. We’re eggs-ceptional.”

“Eggs-straordinary,” Timmy contributes, then smirks.

Phil shakes his head, looking even more tired. “C’mon, you guys, it’s time to get your eggs-cersize, so scramble.” He pauses, an expression of horrified realization slowly growing on his affable, homely face. “God damn it, now you little shits got me doing it, too!”

Jason and Timmy snicker and high five through the bars, clearly reveling in their minor victory.

Tim blinks, both appalled and amused at the way the pair have apparently chosen to entertain themselves and retain their sanity in confinement. He runs through some more footage of their cells, and yep, the pun contests are a regular thing. He’s pretty sure the only reason they’re doing it is to piss off the guards, who all look thoroughly horrified at the sheer volume of terrible puns.

He wonders why they’re being treated so well. Usually, even the non-criminally insane prisoners at Arkham are at elevated risk due to the overall poor conditions and treatment of prisoners. A quick look back at the Arkham budget over the past year shows substantial donations under the Wayne name.

That answers the question for his counterpart—obviously, the doctors would arrange the very best treatment possible for the scion of a wealthy family, in hopes of receiving more donations in the future. But why is Jason included in the gold tier treatment plan?

A deeper dive into the records has him snorting. Apparently, Dick checked Jason in under the name Jason Renard and claimed him as a distant cousin.

Well, at least this Tim and Jason don’t seem to have actually gone crazy or been badly mistreated over the past year of involuntary incarceration. Tim frowns, struck by the realization that this multiverse jump doesn’t seem to have had as much of a time travel component to it as the last one—he and this alternate Tim are almost the same age. Hmm.

Well, he’s still going to call his alternate self Timmy. It will be much easier to keep track of things that way. Plus, he’s the older one by over six months. That gives him nicknaming rights.

There will be time to study this data point more fully and add it to his calculations later. If he is going to continue involuntarily traveling between universes, it would be beneficial to have at least some understanding of the framework determining which universes he gets sent to.

For now, he skims back through the past few weeks of Arkham footage, verifying that Timmy and Jason are always kept on the floor with the harmless mental patients and never exposed to the more criminally violent prisoners. He breathes out a sigh of relief when the worst he sees on their floor is Condiment King. Good.

The last thing they need is the trauma of being trapped in a cell, forced to listen to their worst enemies.

Timmy blinks, slowing down the footage to watch as Jason and Tim bandy some truly execrable puns back and forth with the Condiment King as he’s being led past their cells. “I relish these little meetings of ours!” the man calls out with a goofy, pleased-looking grin. The guard at his side tries to walk faster, visibly flinching at the sound of Jason’s snicker.

“Yeah, it’s always fun to ketchup with you,” Jason says loudly.

“I hate all of you so much,” the guard says, shoulders slumping.

Timmy cackles. “We’ll take that as a condiment.”

Wow.

It—doesn’t seem quite as bad as he expected. Arkham is a terrifying place, usually. Based on what he’s seen so far, he’s just grateful that Timmy and Jason have each other in there. He skims back through the Arkham records and isn’t sure how to feel about the fact that Dick is their only recorded visitor. Where are the others? Someone else should’ve been there for them. Right?

If nothing else, their teams should have come. He frowns, puzzling over that anomaly.

Yeah, this universe clearly sucks. Tim stares into space for a minute, weaving and discarding plans before settling on a course of action. Once he has decided what he needs to do, he turns to the Batcomputer once more. He accesses his own files this time—or rather, his alternate self’s files. After a few minutes of careful perusal, he leans back with a sharp grin. The other Tim’s research on the Omega Beams parallels his own exactly, as do the tentative findings and notes about needing to obtain further data from the archaeological record.

Looks like Tim is going to have to bring Bruce back himself. Again. The best way to prove his other self isn’t crazy is to prove him _right_ instead. Well, he’ll be damned sure not to lose an organ this time around. 

Tim smirks. Then he rolls up his sleeves and gets to work.

* * *

It’s a lot easier to track down the data here to support his theories than it was back in his own universe, for a number of reasons. First, Ra’s has no idea there’s a Tim Drake outside of Arkham right now, so there are no assassins dogging his steps and manipulating the situation as he travels the world gathering evidence to prove Bruce Wayne is alive.

Second, without the League of Assassins’ interest in him, the Council of Spiders never makes an appearance. Tim tries not to think about how many people they have probably killed in their grisly tournament in this universe without his alternate self free to run interference—he has to focus on one problem at a time. Although he does make a mental note to circle back to them once he has the tangled situation with the Bats ironed out.

Last but not least, Tim has one heck of a head start. He already knows exactly where to find all of the evidence he needs to provide irrefutable proof that Bruce Wayne is alive. It’s so much easier when he knows exactly where to look.

He breaks into the Bat Cave again so he can send the data packet along to the Justice League using the Batcomputer. It isn’t worth the effort of trying to prove his credentials with them directly when he can just disguise the packet as looking like it’s from Dick by sending it from here.

Unfortunately, he didn’t take into account the possibility that someone might have picked up on his earlier use of the computer, back when he first arrived in this universe. He’d been careful to loop the surveillance footage then, just as he did this time. Apparently, he should have been more cautious and considered the possibility that Dick might have set up a new telltale or two of his own.

Tim swallows, feeling the knife blade skim lightly over his Adam's apple as it moves. Yikes.

“Tell us what you just did, knave, and your death shall be quick and clean!” Robin’s imperious tones awaken a strange sense of nostalgia in him.

He realizes with a puzzled sense of bewilderment that he actually missed the brat. In the last world, Damian never showed up. Tim likes to think maybe he and Talia managed to go into hiding together while the League of Assassins was in disarray due to the pandemic. The disease was rumored to have swept through the League bases rapidly, decimating their ranks.

He has never wanted to think about the possibility that maybe Talia and Damian didn’t escape, after all. It’s not something he’ll ever know for sure, now.

“Robin!” Batman’s voice sounds harassed as he rushes to their sides and tugs the knife quickly but carefully away from Tim’s throat. “How many times do I have to tell you? We don’t kill!” He puts his free hand on his hip, shaking his head with a frown.

“But he is sitting in Father’s chair!” Robin turns to glare at Tim, then does a double take. He stares, his eyes widening comically. _“Drake?”_

“Wait, _what?”_ Batman whips around to stare at him too. Tim sighs. He really should have put the cowl on, but it gets sweaty under there and he wasn’t planning on running into anyone else in here. “Oh my god, _Timmy?_ How did you get out? Is Jason here, too?” Batman pivots, obviously scanning the Cave for signs of an additional intruder.

“Wait, slow down,” Tim rasps, then clears his throat. It’s never fun to have a knife held to his jugular. He coughs. “Your Tim is still in Arkham.”

Both vigilantes stiffen at the implication. They focus on him again, visibly bracing themselves for an attack. “Oh?” Batman’s voice drops into a gravelly register that gives Tim chills. Dick isn’t supposed to sound that much like Bruce. “Then who are you supposed to be?”

Tim inhales shakily and then gives them a nervous smile. This is all going to be a lot easier if he can convince them of his identity and good intentions quickly. The last thing he needs is to be held in an interrogation cell for the rest of his life—or whatever amount of time he manages to stay in this universe before being flung into the next. That thought is too depressing to dwell on, so he immediately shoves it back in its box.

“I’m Tim Drake from an alternate universe,” he begins, watching them carefully. “In my world, Bruce Wayne survived the attack by Darkseid. I’m the one who proved it and helped bring him back. I have reason to believe he survived here, too.”

Batman freezes. “What?” His voice sounds small and shaky.

Tim bites his lip, gesturing toward the Batcomputer screen. “Take a look.” He rolls the chair he’s sitting in to one side, careful to avoid making any sudden movements. The two vigilantes keep a wary eye on him as they lean forward slightly. Batman begins to scroll through the data packet Tim just sent to the JLA. Robin makes a point of drawing his katana and glaring at Tim before he turns to the screen, going still as he absorbs the contents.

Tim waits. 

After a few minutes, Batman staggers back with a hoarse sound that’s far too close to a sob. Reaching up, he shoves the cowl back and Dick Grayson turns to face Tim, his handsome face twisted in pain. “It’s true? Bruce is alive—but that means—” He gags. “Oh my god, _Tim._ I put him in Arkham!” He staggers a few steps away and hunches over, followed by the unmistakable sounds of retching. Tim winces.

Meanwhile, Robin is still staring at the screen, uncharacteristically quiet. After a long moment, he looks at Tim. “Father is—coming home?” He sounds so damn young.

Tim nods. Now that the JLA has the right information, they should be able to bring Bruce home within a week. Maybe sooner.

Robin’s face twists and he shudders, then stills, his muscles trembling as though he is fighting for control. After a minute, he sniffs.

For the first time since Tim met him, he looks like a ten year-old child. Tim throws Dick a glance, desperately hoping that he’s recovered enough to come hug his kid. Dick catches him looking and walks over shakily, scrubbing at his mouth with the back of one hand. “I’m sorry,” he says, not specifying what for. Maybe it’s a blanket apology for everything.

“It’s fine,” Tim says.

It isn’t, not really. This Dick is going to have a hell of a long road to walk if he ever wants to win back the trust of the Tim in this universe. Right now, though, he can’t help but want to reassure this version of his brother, who is looking at him with so much grief and regret on his exhausted, drawn face.

Tim clears his throat. “Uh, you maybe wanna go get Timmy and Jason out of Arkham now? Jason’s eyes look teal again on the latest footage, not green, so I’m pretty sure the Pit flare-up is long over. And Tim was never insane in the first place, so…” He breaks off guiltily as Dick buries his face in his hands, his broad shoulders shaking.

Surprisingly, it’s Damian who answers. “Yes. Father would want us to go fetch them back before he comes home.” He squares his shoulders and strides away, clearly expecting them both to follow. Tim sighs, then reaches for Dick. Dick jerks in surprise at his touch, then leans into him as Tim begins to lead him out of the Cave after Damian.

He’ll do what he can to help this fractured family heal.

A couple of hours later, suited up and breaking into Arkham with Batman and Robin, Red Robin stares at the ventilation duct in Timmy’s cell, his brow furrowed.

“What the fuck took you guys so long?” Jason complains, folding his arms and eyeing them with a measuring expression from inside his cell.

Batman shifts guiltily. “We’re here now and that’s what counts?”

“Fuck that—you really lived up to your name this time, _Dick_ wad. I mean, yeah, I pretty much went psycho and allegedly killed a bunch of dudes, but all Tim did was be sad and miss B. For whatever reason. Actually, maybe he _is_ crazy—”

“Shut up, Jay,” Timmy says, rolling his eyes.

“Allegedly?” Batman raises a skeptical brow. “Well, considering there are multiple credible witnesses to you _allegedly_ committing murder, arson, theft—”

“Do not list all of Todd’s atrocities—we must leave here within the hour lest we be caught. Second Drake, have you determined the state of the ventilation duct yet?” Robin peers up at him expectantly. They made their way to the cells by posing as guards, but one of them is going to have to get into the ventilation shaft and make their way to the security center to set off a false alarm in another section of Arkham so they can make their way out with the prisoners undetected.

It’s a pretty rough and ready plan, but Oracle just hung up on Batman when he called her to ask for help. Tim has a feeling that she has been giving him an earful over his treatment of his brothers and isn’t ready to forgive him just yet.

Tim snorts. “Yeah—about that. It looks like _someone—”_ He turns to eye Jason and Timmy, both of whom turn away, apparently highly interested in looking any direction but at him right now. Dorks. He continues, “Already set these up for access as an escape route.”

Batman turns to look at Timmy and Jason in turn. “What? Wait, if you guys had a way out, why haven’t you escaped yet?”

Timmy squirms. “Actually, the ventilation ducts are my work. I started setting things up right away after I arrived here, planning my escape. But…” He breaks off, looking away. “Jason wouldn’t have fit in there, not with his shoulders. And after awhile—I didn’t want to escape without him.” He shrugs, blushing furiously.

Jason has a stunned, happy expression on his handsome face. “Shit, Baby Bird, really? I had an escape plan all set and ready to go, too—” He turns to his bunk and lifts the mattress, exposing a hollow containing no less than three guns, six knives, four grenades, and a handful of throwing stars. Holy shit. Arkham security really is a joke. “I thought about leaving, but I was pretty sure you wouldn’t approve if I killed a bunch of guys on the way out. And then, well, I started to get to know the guards, too. Phil’s an alright guy, y’know?”

“Yeah,” Timmy says, nodding and looking a little starry-eyed. “You really stayed here for me?”

Jason scoffs. “Why the fuck not? I coulda gotten out any time I wanted, but I was enjoying the company. Plus, the therapy shit wasn’t that bad.”

“I think it was actually really helpful,” Timmy agrees.

“Wait, what?” Tim’s confused. “You guys actually talked to the therapists here?” Damn it. He’s going to have to check them for brainwashing.

Batman looks similarly alarmed. “Okay, guys, I think it’s time to get you home—” he says soothingly, obviously planning to stick them straight into an interrogation cell until he can figure out how badly they’ve been compromised.

“Quit panicking, dumbass.” Jason rolls his eyes. “We didn’t say anything revealing. Just talked about our childhoods and shit. It was really cathartic, you know?”

Timmy nods thoughtfully. “Yeah, I never realized how neglected I actually was until the therapist helped me figure it out.”

Tim frowns. “Huh? We weren’t neglected.” They weren’t. Right?

Timmy looks at him pityingly. “It’s not normal for parents to only be home for less than two months of each year, Tim. Or for them to only hire a housekeeper to drop off meals five days a week while their ten year-old child raises himself.”

Tim frowns. It can’t be _that_ unusual. Can it?

“Wait, _what?”_ Batman looks appalled. “They _what?”_

Robin scoffs. “That is nothing. _My_ mother left me exposed on a barren mountainside for upwards of a week in order to prove my mettle. I spent days clawing my way up the jagged rock scarps and foraging in the wild to sustain myself whilst navigating by the stars to find my way back to the base.”

Everyone turns to stare at him in appalled silence. There are so many things wrong with that sentence, Tim doesn’t know how to even begin to address any of it.

Fortunately, Batman does. “Oh, buddy,” he says in a voice thick with sorrow, sliding an arm around Robin to draw him in for a hug.

Everyone freezes, holding their breath, then relaxes when Robin doesn’t immediately bite him. That’s always a risk with him.

Tim takes advantage of Batman’s and Robin’s distraction to sidle closer to his alternate self. “So, you chose to stay here?” He frowns. “What about B?” He can’t even imagine giving up on saving Bruce, not while there was any chance of bringing him back.

Timmy looks surprised, then shrugs and gives him an abashed smile. “I still believed he was out there. But—being here with Jay, I started to wonder if maybe Jason needed me even more than Bruce right now. After all, B would still be out there, waiting to be saved, whenever I got out. Jason…” He bites his lip.

“Yeah?”

“It was weird. When they brought me in, at first he assumed I was here to bother him or gloat or something. He started yelling at me, and then when they put me in the cell next to his, he went all quiet. When he talked to me again, it was in this soft, gentle voice I’d never heard from him before—at least, not directed at me.” Timmy looks down, blushing and fiddling with his pants. He bites his lip. “I didn’t want to just walk away from the chance to actually get to know him, you know?”

Tim can kind of see how that might have played out. If Jason was sympathetic and kind, there’s no way Timmy would’ve been able to turn his back on the chance to get to know his childhood hero. “Yeah, I get it.”

“Well, after we talked a bit, I was worried that leaving him here might be what finally drove him the rest of the way over the edge that he’s been teetering on for years. And then we started to get to know each other, and one thing led to another. Next thing I knew, I was in therapy, feeling more stable than I have in years, and hanging out all the time with this awesome guy.” Timmy shrugs again. “I was going to break us out soon, anyway, after we both finished our current course of therapy. Then I would’ve gone to find Bruce.”

“I woulda gone with you, y’know,” Jason’s deep voice contributes unexpectedly.

They both turn to stare at him, surprised. “What do you mean?” Tim asks.

Jason shrugs and gives Timmy a lopsided grin. “I woulda gone with you to find B. Even if it turned out you were wrong, I wouldn’t have let you do that alone. You don’t need to be alone anymore, Baby Bird.”

Timmy smiles back, and there’s a sweet ache in Tim’s chest at the way they’re looking at each other.

Well, that’s interesting. Maybe the Bats aren’t quite as broken here as he thought.

* * *

Three years later, the situation which was so grim upon his arrival in this universe looks considerably lighter. Bruce is back, which went a long way toward setting things right. Dick moped around wallowing in guilt for a while before Tim teamed up with Timmy to corner him after patrol one night with a sci fi marathon, pizza, and just. _So_ much beer.

Emotions were had, heartfelt apologies were made, and by the end of the night, Dick and Timmy were talking freely to each other again.

Making peace between Dick and Jason took a bit longer, but it required less work on Tim’s part. As it turned out, Jason and Timmy started dating each other not long after being released from Arkham. That wasn’t too surprising, at least not to Tim—not after the way he kept catching them looking at each other. The surprising part was that the two of them somehow managed to hide the fact they were in a relationship with each other from everyone else for almost three months.

Tim is more than halfway convinced that the only reason they hid it as long as they did was because they were waiting for the psychologically perfect moment to reveal their relationship status to Dick. If so, they definitely succeeded—Dick can’t look either of them in the eye without blushing now. He seems happy to have both of them talking to him again, though, even if he’s half-traumatized by whatever the heck they were doing when he walked in on them in that safe house.

Tim doesn’t want to know—well, okay, he really does. Jason’s an attractive guy, okay? It’s only natural to be curious and to imagine various thrilling possibilities.

He manages to avoid thinking about it most of the time. Anyway, he has plenty of things to distract him from his awkward half-crush on his alternate self’s boyfriend. Tim just turned twenty-one, and he’s actually managed to stay in this universe long enough to get an associate’s degree at Gotham University. He’s thinking about trying for a bachelor’s next.

Tim is staring into space in a reverie, imagining for the umpteenth time what his alternate self and Jason might have been doing together in the safe house on that fateful night, when a soft sound catches his attention.

When he turns, he sees Bruce walking toward him. “Tim,” he says, approaching the workbench on the south side of the Bat Cave which Tim has claimed as his own over the past few years. “I’ve got the results of the analysis we’ve been running.”

Just like that, he has Tim’s full attention. “Yes?” He’s itching to log onto the Batcomputer and dig into the results immediately, but he restrains himself. The fact that Bruce came over here to tell him in person indicates that there’s something important which he feels merits immediate discussion.

“Tim,” Bruce says again, then hesitates. After a moment, he inhales deeply and speaks, his solemn gaze locked on Tim’s face. “You have been an immense help to me and my family ever since the day you came into our lives. If I could, I would keep you in our universe and family forever.” He pauses again, a tightness around his eyes the only sign of his distress. His lips twitch in a pained frown.

Oh, no.

“But?” Tim prompts, his throat dry. He closes his eyes because he can’t stand to see the expression of pain on Bruce’s face as he tells him that something’s gone terribly wrong.

“The energy readings we identified during your body scans—the ones we noticed which match the signature normally associated with man-made portals. They’ve been increasing, intensifying with the passage of time. I managed to glean some initial readings from you, collected by the passive scanners in the Cave when you arrived in this universe. In comparison to now—” He breaks off, and Tim opens his eyes.

“I’m not going to be able to stay here, am I?” He hates how resigned his own voice sounds right now. It’s as though he has already given up.

Bruce is wearing an expression that Tim has only seen in the mirror. He has never seen any version of the Bat look like that before. If he didn’t know any better, he’d call it despair.

Tim frowns. “B,” he says slowly, sitting up straighter in his chair. “What else did you find?” He doesn’t really want to know. That doesn’t stop him from asking, though.

“It will be soon,” Bruce manages after a moment, his strong shoulders slumping, borne down by the weight of a challenge he cannot meet. “I can’t tell how soon, exactly, but the energy readings from you appear to be approaching levels I have measured at actual functional multiverse portals. I’m concerned a portal may form spontaneously at any moment, _soon,_ and transfer you somewhere else—” He breaks off, his eyes widening in astonished horror as the world around them shimmers, then starts to dissolve in a wash of white light. “No!” he cries out, reaching for Tim as though to anchor him in this world by sheer stubborn force of will.

The expression of shock and concern on his face as Tim’s body begins to fade out of existence before his stunned eyes is something that Tim will never be able to unsee. Nor the desperate, outstretched fingers as this version of his father calls his name and lunges forward in a doomed bid to hold him here.

The last thing he sees is the expression of desolation on Bruce’s face when his hands close on nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Tim, waking up in a new world again:** “Nope” *Attempts to check out by sheer force of will. Fails* “Dammit” *Sighs, begins to investigate wtf went wrong in this one* “Hopefully things aren’t too bad here, at least?”  
>  **Batcomputer:** “Lol nope!” *Reveals his counterpart is in Arkham with Jason and Bruce is still lost in time*  
>  **Tim:** “Goddamnit!” *Grumbles angrily to himself as he yanks Bruce back out of the time stream, breaks Tim and Jason out of Arkham, and lets a sloppy drunk Dick sob all over him while working through his guilt over committing Timmy to Arkham* “Well, at least things are getting better in this universe and I can finally rest and enjoy my new life here—”  
>  **Bruce, looking extremely uncomfortable:** “Uh, actually—” *Wordlessly points at Batcomputer where test results and readings all indicate Tim absolutely can’t rest and enjoy his new life here*  
>  **Tim, cursing helplessly as he falls into the next universe:** “Fml”


	3. Chapter 3

Tim wakes up in the Cave and opens his eyes. A moment later, he closes them again, shuddering. If he keeps them closed, maybe he can pretend for a moment longer that this isn’t happening. He begins to shake, clenching his jaw and squeezing his eyes closed tighter against the hot sting of tears. If he opens his mouth right now, he’s afraid he won’t be able to stop screaming.

He isn’t sure how much time has passed by the time he manages to get his emotions under control. It was probably only a couple of minutes—after all, the glimpse he got of the Bat Cave before he closed his eyes revealed an impressive level of destruction. His trained instincts wouldn’t allow him to break down for long in the face of an in-progress disaster.

It might have taken longer for him to recover if he didn’t hear Alfred’s weak, quivering voice calling out from somewhere amidst the rubble. “Master Bruce! Help!”

Tim’s eyes snap open and he turns from side to side, scanning what’s left of the Bat Cave and taking stock of the situation. The main Cave is partially collapsed. There’s light filtering down through gaping holes in the ceiling where daylight is visible. Massive blocks of the Cave’s native limestone appear to have fallen to form towering piles of rubble, one of which is uncomfortably close to the computer where he’s sitting.

The dust is still settling. This destruction must have just happened, most likely moments before his own arrival here. Tim stares, studying the fracture pattern and tracing the points of failure where the rock broke under stress. It’s all too familiar. He has seen this before.

There’s no denying it. This world is currently showing unmistakable signs of being smack dab in the middle of its own cataclysm, the devastating earthquake which inexplicably struck Gotham City with little warning despite Gotham’s location far from any known spreading centers, subduction zones, or hot spots in the earth’s crust.

Tim grits his teeth as he remembers the sheer catastrophic scope of damage caused by the earthquake. While the majority of the city was built on bedrock and was thus less susceptible to the shaking caused by seismic waves rippling out from the epicenter of the quake, portions of the city were built on unconsolidated sediments and fill. Those low-lying coastal areas—mostly zoned for industrial uses and cheap housing—were subject to liquefaction during the seismic event. Images rise in his mind’s eye of the terrible destruction wrought by Cataclysm, tenements folded and collapsed in on themselves like so many houses of cards.

Worse, the very fact of Gotham being geographically located in an area mapped as low risk for seismicity actually worked against them during the disaster. None of Gotham’s buildings—with the exception of those constructed by Wayne Enterprises—were required to be constructed to code to withstand earthquakes because seismic activity wasn’t considered a probable risk. That was a costly oversight.

It’s going to be hell out there.

Another weak groan from the direction of the nearest pile of rubble reminds him that he isn’t alone.

“Alfred, I’m coming!” Tim calls, jumping to his feet and then picking his way carefully through the rubble toward the direction the sounds seem to be coming from. He doesn’t bother to introduce himself, not particularly caring about social niceties in the urgency of the moment. Alfred should recognize him, after all, even if he’s over six years older than the Tim here.

He marvels at that for a moment—he was seventeen when he landed in the first universe and met a fourteen year-old Tim. Now he’s almost twenty-two and he’s in a universe with a different fourteen year-old Tim. Well, almost fifteen, but still. He’s going to seem like such a baby now.

Tim finds Alfred and begins to gently lift rocks aside, clearing a path for him to escape from where he’s trapped, blocked in by the rockfall. Mercifully, he appears to be uninjured. “Are you okay?” he asks urgently, not willing to trust appearances. He knows Alfred made it through Cataclysm just fine in his universe. Here, all bets are off. 

“I am well,” Alfred says, brushing his sleeves off and looking shaken. “What in heaven’s name is going on? And who—?”

Tim gently guides Alfred toward the center of the Cave, where things seem the most stable. In the back of his mind, he runs through a quick mental checklist of everyone’s probably locations—Batman has most likely been swept into the underground river, Oracle is helping out GCPD, Nightwing and Robin are both hurrying back to Gotham after having heard about the disaster, and many others are already starting to do what they can to help.

Hopefully, things are similar enough here that Tim can actually be of use in saving people quicker.

“Oh, I say,” Alfred stares at him with an expression of mild surprise as he gets a good look at his face.

Tim grins. “Hey Alfred. I’m a Tim, here from another universe—guess I picked a bad time to visit.”

Alfred raises an eyebrow, apparently unwilling to dignify that massive understatement with a response. Tim double checks that the man is unharmed before he uses his wrist computer to check in on the state of the city. One thing he has been tremendously grateful for during all of his universe jumps so far is that his own Red Robin suit has been compatible with the tech in every place he’s been. All of the universes he has visited have been so close to his own, the similarities outweighing the differences by far. He should be grateful for that, at least, but right now it’s difficult to focus on the positive.

There doesn’t seem to be any noticeable pattern to his jumps so far, and the time travel component appears to be random. The thought that he may never be able to predict the jumps fills him with despair.

Tim forces himself to concentrate on the screen in front of him. Now is not the time for dwelling on his situation. As he studies the information available on Oracle’s network and the web, he goes cold. “Oh my god,” he whispers, horrified at what he’s seeing. “Oh no.”

_God, this is so much worse than I expected. What went wrong? Why are things so different here?_

“What is it, Master Tim?” Alfred leans closer as though to assist him. Apparently, he has chosen to fully accept him as who he appears to be, at least for the time being.

“It’s Cataclysm,” Tim gasps, stricken. He covers his mouth with a shaking hand. “In my world, it was just Gotham, and that was bad enough. Here, the Quakemaster caused earthquakes in major cities all over the world. It’s a planet-wide crisis.”

How could this have happened? The Quakemaster was just supposed to be a fraud, a fake who claimed credit for what turned out to be an entirely natural earthquake. The grim answer occurs to him almost immediately. This is the multiverse, filled with infinite variations of every event. Somewhere in the multiverse, every possibility is real.

This must be the world where the Quakemaster is a real villain, one who represents a terrible threat to the entire world.

“Then we’ll deal with it,” Batman’s voice says grimly.

Tim spins and sees the Dark Knight looming nearby, dripping water onto the Cave floor. “Bruce!” The expression on this Batman’s face is anything but trusting. He resists the urge to flinch. Batman’s reaction is only reasonable—Tim appeared in the Bat Cave during an unfolding disaster. Of course Batman would be suspicious of him. Still, seeing that look directed at him hurts, especially so soon after living in a universe with a kind and caring Bruce who trusted him.

He takes his memories of the last two universes—Bruce encouraging him to get his high school diploma, a different Bruce smiling at him and enveloping him in a warm hug at his college graduation—and he puts them in a box. Sadly, he wonders if he’ll ever see either of them again. The possibility seems vanishingly small. He closes the box and tries not to feel the way his heart twists.

This is a new Bruce. Tim has to earn his trust. 

Batman regards him for a long moment. “You said something like this happened in your world,” he says in a dark, gravelly voice. “Tell me everything you know.”

Tim inhales deeply, his breath hitching at the menace in that voice, and then gives his report.

Obvious distrust aside, Batman listens. He remains silent for the most part, interjecting an occasional question or challenge as Tim delivers his halting narrative of everything he can remember from the way Cataclysm unfolded in his own original universe.

He can’t help remembering that it didn’t happen quite the same way in the Clench pandemic universe—he was able to warn Bruce about the earthquake a few months ahead of time there, after all. Clench-Bruce simply used the excuse of a new flare-up of the pandemic to completely evacuate Gotham at the opportune moment a couple of days before the earthquake, housing everyone on the mainland temporarily so that no lives were lost.

Tim wishes like hell he’d gotten here a few days earlier.

Batman stares at him once he finishes speaking. “Why should I trust anything you say?”

“Feel free to throw me in an interrogation cell once this is over,” Tim says, rolling his eyes and glancing at the collapsed section of the cave where the cells used to be. “Look, I can’t give you a reason to trust my intel. _I_ don’t know if it applies here—in fact, I know it _doesn’t._ In my world, only one city was hit by the quake, and it wasn’t caused by a supervillain. Obviously, things are different here.” He bites his lip and shrugs. “But maybe some of it will be helpful.”

Batman continues to stare at him.

Tim sighs, raising an eyebrow. “So, what’s it going to be?” Batman isn’t going to just tie him up and leave him here to deal with later once he has the bandwidth. Probably.

Batman regards him for another moment, then turns and begins to walk toward what’s left of the equipment storage area. “I’ll let you know.”

Well, that’s not the worst way this could have gone. Tim hurries after him, knowing that if he doesn’t keep up there’s a strong chance Batman will take off without him. The exits are all blocked, so they strap on scuba gear to swim out through the always freezing underground river.

As they reach the surface, Tim gasps at the desolation he sees. It’s like a scene from hell. At his side, Batman begins to stroke toward shore. He follows, wondering if his presence here is going to make any difference at all.

Together, they’re able to help save what’s left of the city. It doesn’t feel like a win—not even close.

Tim doesn’t feel like his faulty foreknowledge helps improve the outcome all that much. Sure, they’re able to rescue more survivors in Gotham itself, entrap and bring down the Quakemaster before he strikes again, and mitigate some of the worst of the damage locally.

They’re too late to do anything else, though. All of the destruction caused by the man-made earthquakes is here to stay. Tim shakes his head, hardly able to believe that he’s actually in a world where the Quakemaster was truly responsible for Cataclysm. It’s hard to reconcile with his knowledge of the fraud who claimed credit for the disaster back in his universe, to try to trick a ransom out of desperate people.

As they drag themselves into the Bunker beneath Wayne Tower—built to withstand major earthquakes, like all Wayne Industries buildings— he wishes like hell he could have done more.

“Tim,” Batman says in a voice hoarse with exhaustion. He’s filthy, his uniform torn and his exposed skin bruised.

“Yeah, B?” Tim turns to look at him. “What’s up?”

“I’ve decided.”

“Huh?” He’s too tired for riddles right now.

“You don’t have to go in the interrogation cell.” Batman gives him a tired smirk as he shoves off the cowl.

Tim rolls his eyes so hard, he’s pretty sure they get dangerously close to falling out of his head. “Thanks for that, B.” If Bruce tried to put him in an interrogation cell after all this, he’s pretty sure Alfred would just let him right back out. He glances over to where the indomitable butler is standing, quietly composed as usual, holding a tray of tea and sandwiches. Alfred winks.

Blinking, Tim looks at him again, not totally clear on whether or not that actually just happened. Alfred smiles faintly, then hands him a sandwich. “Eat up, my boy.”

Yeah, Alfred would definitely let him out. He wobbles and Bruce automatically reaches out to steady him, his expression a familiar mixture of worry and protectiveness. Batdad mode activated, apparently. Well, that’s much better than the blatant suspicion and mistrust earlier.

Tim sighs, feeling tired inside and out. His course of action from here is clear—he has no way of knowing if or when he is going to shift to another universe again. He’s just going to have to lean in and do his best to help out in whatever way he can with the rebuilding.

God knows, this world needs all the help it can get.

* * *

Tim reaches up and wipes sweat from his brow as he leans back and takes a breather. It’s hard work setting up the water filtration and desalination units, but they have made some decent progress over the past few days. “Hey Timmy,” he calls out, trying to catch his counterpart’s eye. “Throw me a water bottle, yeah?”

Timmy shoots him a grin and lobs a water bottle at his head. “Here you go!”

Snickering, Tim catches it expertly out of the air. “Nice try.” Tilting his head back, he gulps down the water. He can’t wait until the desal project goes online and Gotham City actually has a reliable water supply again. It should have been higher on the list, but stabilizing and rebuilding the infrastructure took precedence, especially once it was discovered that the groundwater aquifers beneath the city are now heavily contaminated. Bedrock fractures which opened or deepened during the earthquake increased the permeability and connectivity of the various deeper aquifers with the cesspit of mixed Joker venom, fear gas leachate, and various other pharmaceuticals and chemical waste which always polluted the unconfined uppermost aquifer beneath the city. Hazardous waste and toxins seeped into the municipal-use groundwater and now the only viable solution for the Gotham water supply is to look to the sea.

Wayne Enterprises has been paying to ship imported water into the city since the Cataclysm, but that’s not sustainable. Tim helped develop the plan to equip the city with multiple small desalination stations to avoid reliance on a single source—that would be tantamount to an engraved invitation asking for a rogue to target it.

He just wishes that he’d been able to get out of helping with the actual construction. Unfortunately, there’s still too much essential rebuilding going on and available crews are all being directed to hospitals, schools, and government facilities.

The past three years have been filled with far more manual labor than he ever expected to be involved in. On the plus side, his arm muscles have never been better. He experiences a moment’s stab of jealousy that Steph and Cam managed to finagle roles on the administrative side of things. Once Tim pointed out their intelligence and competence to Bruce, the man hired them both as interns on the spot. They’re sitting in an air-conditioned office right now, probably laughing at him and Timmy. He sighs.

“Hey guys! Are you at a good stopping point?” Dick jogs up, smiling.

“Why aren’t you wearing a shirt?” Tim raises a brow. It’s not _that_ hot out today.

“I’m saving wear and tear on my clothes by wearing the minimum amount possible! Resources are limited right now so I’m just doing my part for conservation.” Dick flashes one of his blinding grins. “I’d suggest you two do the same, but your delicate skin would probably sunburn to a crisp instantly.”

Tim and Timmy exchange a glance and shrug. They’re not even going to argue—it’s true. Their shirts are staying on, thank you very much. Timmy turns to Dick. “What are you so excited about?”

“Bruce and I dug out another section of the Bat Cave today.”

“Oh, wow,” Tim says, beginning to catch some of the other man’s excitement. They rarely have time to venture to the portions of the Bat Cave which are still collapsed, filled with debris, and partially flooded. The main chamber is cleared and functional, at least, acting as the Bats’ headquarters with Oracle’s rebuilt Clocktower and the Bunker as secondary bases.

He wonders what they managed to find in that mess that actually still works. There must be something, or Dick wouldn’t be so excited. Briefly, he wonders if maybe they’ve finally gotten a ping on the searches he helped them set up for Jason, Damian, and Cass. Cataclysm shattered the patterns of movement and the timeline so thoroughly that nothing Tim knows about any of their potential whereabouts holds true anymore. Cass, at least, has been spotted a few times on security footage, helping out survivors of the Quake. They still have no idea if the others are even still alive.

“What did you turn up?” He tries not to get his hopes up.

“We found the multiverse tech,” Dick says.

Holy shit. Well, that’s definitely worth a look.

“Yeah, okay, we’re at a good stopping point,” he says, dropping his tools and then stripping off his thick leather work gloves. “Let’s go.” His heart races as the possibilities tumble through his mind. He knows his energy signature probably isn’t stable—the fact that he has fallen through three universes in the past seven years is proof of that.

Still, he can’t help but hope. He could have stabilized at some point over the past three years. Maybe he’s finally done falling.

An hour later, Bruce is talking to him. The man is visibly excited that he has finally managed to round up the time and tech to further analyze Tim’s problem. The others usually avoid talking about it for the most part, aware that the topic is upsetting to Tim, but he knows everyone hopes they can find a way to help stabilize him and keep him here.

They’ve just spent the last twenty minutes running Tim through the scanners. Everyone is crowded around the Batcomputer in the repaired portion of the Cave, staring at the results.

Bruce points to the screen, his expression intent. “So you see, Tim, your energy levels are still rising, but the rate has slowed significantly in comparison to the data you gathered during your stay in the last universe prior to this.” He frowns as he regards the data. “While I would prefer to see a slower rise—or better yet, gradual dissipation and decrease of the portal energy associated with you—this is good news.”

“Yeah?” Tim stares despondently at the trend graphs on the screen. He has been here for over three years now. Hell, he’s twenty-four years old and he still hasn’t slipped into another universe. He’d really been starting to hope that maybe, the nightmare of being unstuck in the multiverse was finally over.

Apparently, that was too much to ask. 

Bruce looks concerned. He reaches over and places a comforting hand on Tim’s shoulder, squeezing gently. Even now, almost a decade since he’s worn the suit as Batman’s partner, that gesture still makes Tim relax. For a moment, at least, it feels like everything is going to be alright. “Either way, I believe your next jump will be your last. The rate at which the energy is accruing is slowing.”

Tim nods. That’s poor comfort when another jump still means he’ll have to lose everything here and start from scratch somewhere new again. He’s having trouble swallowing past the lump in his throat.

Timmy sniffs and Dick puts an arm around his shoulders, tugging him into a side-hug. Both of them stare at Tim, clearly upset about losing someone who has become almost another brother to them over the past few years. Behind them, Alfred slips away, almost certainly intending to come back with a tray full of bracing hot drinks and filling, nutritious snacks.

“Even if we can’t find a way to keep you here, you aren’t going to be stuck in this pattern forever.” Bruce says, looking pained that he can’t offer more comfort.

It makes sense. After all, Bruce is so tied up with the rebuilding efforts that it’s unlikely he’ll be able to spare much time to help figure out a way to anchor Tim in this reality, if such a thing is even possible. The tech level in this world has fallen since Cataclysm destroyed and set back progress in so many population centers worldwide.

Tim looks at Bruce again. As he does so, he realizes with an aching pain in his chest that he was wrong. Bruce isn’t upset because he doesn’t have time to help him. From his haunted expression and the defeat visible in every line of his slumped posture, Tim knows that he has probably already tried everything he could think of, and failed.

“No, I understand.” Tim closes his eyes, momentarily overcome. He pushes aside the sadness he’s feeling at the idea of leaving this world and the people he’s grown to care about here. Instead, he focuses on the one positive thing Bruce said. One more jump. He might only have to go through one more jump. His eyes sting as a rush of relief and hope fills him.

It’s still not certain, but it’s the best assurance he has right now, so he’s going to hold onto it.

The data Bruce just showed him addresses his biggest fear since the beginning of this unpredictable journey—that he would never truly have a place to call home again. Instead of being shunted from one apocalypse scenario to the next, he’s going to be able to rest. Soon. Maybe here? After all, it’s still possible the energy will just stop building at some point before reaching the critical level necessary to trigger formation of another spontaneous portal. It has to run out eventually. Why not while he’s still here?

He tries not to let himself hope. It’s just going to hurt even more when it inevitably happens again.

Tim opens his eyes, startled, when he feels large, strong arms wrap around him and draw him close in a tight hug. “I’m so sorry, Tim,” Bruce whispers. “So very sorry. I would give anything to protect my children—to protect _you_ from this.” His voice breaks and Tim feels his strong frame shudder.

He buries his face in Bruce’s chest and lets himself cry. He cries for his life here, for the lives he’s already left behind, and for the future he’s afraid he may never be allowed to have.

It doesn’t matter that the Bruce holding him isn’t the one who trained him, the one who helped him finally get his high school diploma, or even the one who was there at his college graduation. It doesn’t matter. They’re all his family, bound together by love—and they’re all doomed to be torn apart by forces beyond his control.

* * *

What tiny hopes Tim allows himself to build are dashed three years later when the world begins to fade in and out.

_No._

They’ve come so much further in the recovery efforts. Gotham is standing tall, every structure in the city built to stringent code just in case an earthquake ever strikes here again. So are the majority of the other cities leveled by Cataclysm six years ago. The global economy is functioning again, supply chains rebuilt and stronger than ever with redundancies in place to avoid collapse in the face of future disasters.

And Jason and Damian are both here, having shown up shortly after Bruce made his observations with the multiverse equipment. They were both filthy, bedraggled, and wary—apparently, Talia was killed in one of the other cities affected by the earthquakes, and Ra’s had _plans_ for the children under her protection.

Understandably, Jason grabbed Damian and fled. They spent the next several years traveling together, on the run from the League of Assassins and unsure of where to go or whom to trust.

Neither had seemed at all confident of their welcome when they arrived at Wayne Manor. Tim still grins when he looks at his pictures of the stunned expressions on their faces when Bruce spotted them at the door and then _sprinted_ down the steps to sweep them both into his arms.

They were a little shell shocked, but ultimately relieved at the warm welcome. Jason, in particular, teared up when he found out that his family not only knew he was alive, they’d been actively searching for him.

With Cass making more appearances in the city and starting to edge closer to the Bats, actually joining Batman on patrol regularly, it finally feels like the family is all together.

That makes the fact that he’s about to leave it behind hurt all the more.

Tim sees Jason’s eyes widening as he pauses in his task of prepping supplies for the medbay. At his side, Damian straightens and reaches for a weapon before freezing, a look of dismayed horror on his face as he realizes that no weapon will stop this from happening. Dick’s face twists like his heart is breaking, and Timmy—he’s got a frozen look on his face.

Tim knows it well. That’s his expression when he desperately pretends that something doesn’t hurt, as though going numb can stop his heart from breaking. Poor Timmy—he hasn’t had as much practice putting things away in boxes. Hopefully his family can help him deal with the aftermath once Tim is gone. 

Bruce’s face is the worst of all. His expression is stricken, and it’s clear he’s blaming himself.

“It’s not your fault—” is all Tim manages to say before he’s blinked away from the place that’s become his home over the past six years.

_Damn it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Tim, waking up in new world AGAIN:** “Goddamnit!” *Dodges a piece of falling Cave, shrieks* “Wtf”  
>  **Bruce, punching falling rocks and bellowing:** “The earth! It’s angry at us!”   
> **Tim, squinting:** “It’s called an earthquake, B. Ugh, fine. Let’s go fix this!” *Throws himself into the rebuilding efforts and bonding with this new version of his family*  
>  **Bruce, years later:** *Studies results of latest batch of test, brightens marginally* “There’s a slight possibility you’re nearing the end of your prolonged fall through the multiverse”  
>  **Tim, bracing himself:** *Waits to see if he immediately falls into a new universe, wincing. When nothing happens, he begins to smile* “Hey, maybe I can stay here. After all, it’s already been six years—” *Immediately falls into another universe* “FUCK”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quotes this chapter taken from Batgirl Vol. 3 #4, Birds of Prey #59, Nightwing #86, Teen Titans Vol. 6 #33, Batgirl Vol. 1 #8, Batman #625, Battle for the Cowl Vol. 1

Tim wakes up in the Cave and opens his eyes. There are no tears this time, possibly because he’s finally starting to get used to the reality that every so often he closes his eyes and opens them in a whole new universe. Maybe what holds back despair is the thought—the hope, really—that this might just be the last one. He doesn’t allow himself to think about the possibility that Bruce was wrong.

He’s not sure he can handle starting over again after this. There are only so many times he can rebuild his life from scratch, and he’s just so damn tired.

Inhaling a shaky breath, Tim forces himself to focus and looks warily around the Bat Cave. He’s immediately flooded with an overwhelming sense of relief. This Cave is intact, quiet, and calm, with no signs of a recent or ongoing disaster. There are no beds overflowing the medbay to indicate another medical disaster like the Clench. The Bat Cave itself is completely intact, in stark contrast to his arrival at the universe locked in an amped-up version of Cataclysm. There’s some dust, but the place isn’t visibly abandoned like in the universe where Bruce was caught in Darkseid’s trap for so much longer than in his own world.

Everything looks to be in place—in fact, he notices a few extra items in terms of tech and equipment which cause him to suspect that this universe might be a little farther along down the timeline than anywhere else he’s been. He wonders if he’s going to be one of the youngest again instead of one of the oldest. It was bizarre getting used to being only two years younger than Dick in the last universe.

“Huh,” he says as his gaze falls on a longer-than-usual row of glass cases. He frowns. A series of uniforms are displayed there, which wouldn’t be anything notable, but…

Every single one of them has an engraved plaque. The fine hairs on the back of his neck stand up as a chill runs through him.

Tim rises and approaches the cases slowly, already suspecting that he’s going to regret it. There are some things he doesn’t want to know. He stands in front of the first case and looks anyway.

He is staring at the Batgirl costume. It’s Steph’s, he’s pretty sure, although it’s a bit hard to tell considering how damaged it is. He glances numbly at the plaque, half-expecting a generalized platitude like _a good soldier,_ the empty words that adorned Jason Todd’s memorial case for so long. He almost chokes on his spit when instead he reads, _I’m almost fifty percent sure nothing could go wrong._

“Jesus,” he whispers, appalled but biting back a smile. That sounds exactly like something Steph would say. “Who the heck wrote these things?” If it weren’t for the obvious care and attention to detail with which the memorials were constructed, he would almost wonder if some villain managed to defeat the Bats and take over the Cave.

The owner of the next case is obvious—it contains Oracle’s escrima sticks and a computer. Tim snickers wetly as he reads her epitaph. _When it comes to research,_ never _bet against a former librarian._ “So true,” he whispers, staring for a moment longer before he moves along to the case with Nightwing’s uniform. His epitaph reads, _Every now and then I have the feeling I’ve totally lost my mind. It’s a great feeling._ Tim snorts. That’s so Dick.

He doesn’t want to keep walking—his mind rebels at the thought of seeing which of the other people he cares about are gone. It’s even worse than it usually is because if this really is his last stop on the runaway multiverse train ride, then this was his last chance. He’s never going to see any version of them again.

The boxes in his mind are piling up.

His feet keep moving anyway, bringing him next to a case displaying a black uniform which seems to absorb all of the light in the room. It’s adult-sized and unfamiliar, but he strongly suspects he knows who wore it. The menacing hood and matched katanas are a dead giveaway. “Damian,” he whispers sadly. The inscription reads, _For true evil cannot be contained or killed. But as it turns out...it_ can _be_ fixed.

Tim wonders with a sharp pang what meaning the writer of those words intended—whether Damian was talking about the criminals he fought, or himself. His mouth twists as he remembers all the different versions he’s known, of the boy who was raised to be a monster and learned to be a man. He stares at the memorial for a while longer before slowly moving on to pay his respects to the next. He’s filled with a merciful sense of numbness. All of this will probably hurt like hell later, though.

He blinks at the remnants of uniform hanging in the next case for a full minute before he discerns enough to recognize the suit. It’s Black Bat. His throat tightens at the unfairness. Of all the family, she’s the only one he hasn’t actually met again since leaving his own universe. She never showed up after the Clench, she joined a secluded order of monks after Darkseid, and she hadn’t shown herself to any of them except Bruce yet in the Cataclysm universe. He frowns, remembering the helplessness he felt when he couldn’t find her in the Clench universe. He doesn’t know if she just went so deep into hiding as to become invisible even to all his resources, or if—He shakes his head. It doesn’t matter now.

But it _hurts_ that he’ll probably never see his sister again. He misses her still, a decade after he last saw her. He probably always will.

Tim smiles when he sees her epitaph. _I don't_ kill _... but I don't_ lose, _either._

“That’s Cass, alright,” he murmurs fondly. She probably won, even in her defeat. He can’t imagine her losing without taking her opponents down with her. He moves on to the next memorial, his heart thumping at the knowledge that there are only two left in the line. Two more of his precious people, gone from this universe before he ever landed here.

His heart thumps again. Who will be next? Batman, or Red Hood?

It’s Batman. The suit is a mess—there’s more empty air than material, and what’s left is tattered and singed. _One day, there will be no pain, no loss, no crime,_ his epitaph reads. Bruce is beyond pain and loss now, but Tim isn’t. “What happened to you?” he says, his face crumpling. He reaches out as though to rest a hand on the glass over the chest, where Bruce’s heart would’ve been. He pulls back when he realizes what he’s doing and then sniffs, his eyes burning. Bruce is gone. They all are. He’s never going to see his family again. He sniffs louder, his fingers trembling as he tries not to think about the long years stretching into the future without them.

His face twists and the hot tears spill over at the realization that he almost hopes Bruce’s calculations are wrong, after all. If he’s still falling through the multiverse, there’s a chance they’ll all be alive in the next universe.

Tim turns to the final case, his throat tight with the unhappy certainty that Red Hood must be next. As soon as he counted the number of cases and realized someone was missing, he was certain that it would be the Tim Drake of this universe. Somehow, he figured that if anyone outlived all of the others, it would be his own counterpart.

It never even occurred to him to consider the possibility that the person memorialized in the final case might be himself. He’s always had a tendency to be the one left behind, after all.

Not this time, apparently. Tim’s mouth goes dry as he stares at the damaged Red Robin suit in the final memorial case.

The sight hurts in a completely different way from the others. The damage to this Red Robin suit is very familiar—he can see the rents made by the Widower’s blades. “I guess in this universe, I never made it out of the Afghan Desert. Wonder if Ra’s tried the Pit? Must not have worked. I hope the others managed to get Bruce back, anyway…” He trails off, reading the epitaph. _But if Bruce taught me anything, it's that you have to have a_ game plan. _For everything. Even for_ death.

Well, that’s just good sense. Tim frowns as he remembers what was going on when he spoke those words. He tenses as he becomes aware of the sensation of someone watching him. He looks at the memorials again, thinking about who is missing. It seems impossible, but… “Jason?” he says, turning around on instinct.

Batman is standing there, staring at him. Tim freezes, instincts telling him one thing while his mind tells him something else entirely. Bruce is dead here. Isn’t he? All he has seen is an empty suit. Maybe… His heart thumps with hope.

A moment later, Batman solves his conundrum by reaching up and pushing back the cowl, revealing Jason’s tired, lined face.

“Hey, Replacement,” he says, looking exhausted. “Been a long damn time. You here to kill me?”

Tim blinks. “What the hell? No, of course not.” He frowns, eyeing Jason searchingly. “Why did you just walk over and take off the cowl if you thought I might attack you?” Bruce taught all of them better than that.

Jason scrubs a hand through his hair and sighs. He gives Tim a once-over and then smiles ruefully. “Fuck it. Maybe I thought it was only fair to give you a shot, after the way shit went down between us last time I saw you.” His face twists and Tim recognizes that expression immediately. It’s guilt.

He blinks, then shakes his head slowly. “I’m not actually from this universe, as you’ve probably guessed. You don’t owe me anything. If things went down pretty much the same way here—” He frowns, then lifts an eyebrow. “Is this about that time after Bruce fake-died when you went nuts, put on the suit, started killing people, and then stabbed me in the heart with a batarang when I tried to stop you?” He resists the urge to rub at the scar on his chest, then winces when he sees the other man flinch at his words.

“Uh, yeah.” Jason looks incredibly awkward as he shrugs. “That. You gonna take a shot, or what?”

“Heck no.” Tim shakes his head emphatically. “That was the Pit-rage. I suspected it even then, and it was completely obvious once I came back and you’d gotten it under control again. It wasn’t your fault that you were dealing with the effects of the Lazarus Pit.”

Jason looks grief-stricken. “Oh. That’s—uh, thanks, man. Here… It was different. You never came back from your little trip to find Bruce.”

Tim bites his lip and nods slowly. He pretty much figured that out from the memorial. “That sucks,” he offers. “It was pretty touch-and-go for me, too. I barely made it. I’m guessing you guys managed to bring B back anyway?”

Jason snorts and nods, his mouth twisting. “We did. He had a plan, you know? Tim. The one here, I mean. He had this elaborate setup that automatically went into action after he died. Sent messages to everyone important to him, with everything he thought we’d all need. Cases and all that shit, but also the evidence he’d been gathering to prove B was alive and get him back.” He gestures toward the memorial. “Little shit, he always thought of everything—” His voice breaks off and he clears his throat gruffly.

“Ah,” Tim says, feeling a wave of sorrow for what’s been lost here. He pushes it back and focuses on Jason. He can only help the living, after all, and do his best to honor the dead. “We had waffles,” he says, then snickers wetly when Jason looks at him with a confused, disgruntled expression. “No, wait, I swear this will make sense. My Jason and I—we met up on patrol one night after I got back from my Brucequest. One thing led to another, and the next thing I knew, we were in this diner eating waffles, just talking. It was really nice. That was the start of us being able to work together. I think… If things had been different, we would’ve become friends.”

Jason looks at him, frowning. “Different? What, did _I_ die in your universe or something?”

Tim bites his lip and shakes his head. “Uh, no. But, well—it’s kind of complicated?”

“We got time.”

“Fair enough.” Tim considers where to even begin, then decides to just blurt it all out and get it over with. “When I was seventeen, there was an incident that led to my becoming unstuck in the multiverse—”

As Tim tells his story, Jason’s eyes slowly widen. He looks stunned at the description of the Clench pandemic, appalled when he hears about Dick throwing both of their alternate selves into Arkham, and both embarrassed and interested when Tim tells him about that Jason’s and Tim’s form of vengeance. When Tim tells him about Cataclysm and his alternate self’s desperate journey across a crumbling world to get his baby brother to safety, his eyes are wet.

By the time the story finally stops spilling from Tim’s lips, Jason looks stunned. “Jesus,” he says, shaking his head. He eyes Tim for a long moment with a measuring expression, and then shrugs. “Fuck it, I don’t even care if you’re lying for some yet unknown ulterior motives. That was one hell of a story. As a reward, we’re goin’ upstairs and having a goddamn beer.” He turns around and strides toward the stairs.

Tim stares after him, blinking. This is a very different reception than he’s gotten in any of the universes he’s landed in up until now. Of course, there’s usually an unfolding disaster to deal with. He glances around the Bat Cave, his eyes landing on the solemn line of memorial cases again, and shivers. Yeah, a beer or two sounds really good right now.

He follows Jason.

A few minutes later, he’s holding a beer and wondering how the heck this is his life. “So,” Tim says, taking a sip and trying awkwardly not to stare at the frankly depressing state of Alfred’s former kitchen. “This is—homey?” He tilts his head, wondering if looking at things from a different angle will make the dingy floor, peeling paint, abundant spiderwebs, and thick dust accumulation in the corners look less appalling. It doesn’t.

Jason glances at him, a frown gathering on his handsome face. “Are you high right now or something? This place is depressing as fuck.” He shakes his head with a snort, then raises his beer and knocks it back in three long pulls.

Tim finds himself staring in fascination at the muscles in his throat working as he swallows. He catches himself after a moment and looks away, sipping his own beer as a distraction. “So then why do you stay here?” Wayne Manor is honestly the last place he would want to be if he were the only one left. He can’t imagine Jason feeling any better about it.

“What?” Jason looks surprised, then horrified. “Oh, hell no. I don’t stay here. I just came over when the intruder alerts triggered on the Bat Cave.” He shrugs. “Thought it was probably raccoons again—those little fuckers come in through the branch tunnels every few years, get lost, and end up trapped in there. Assholes gnaw the shit outta the old supplies. It sucks having to humanely trap ‘em and release them back into the wild, but I’m pretty sure Dami’s ghost would come back and haunt my ass if I just shot the little fuckers.”

“Ah,” Tim says. That actually makes way more sense than the idea that Jason would subject himself to living in Wayne Manor. He frowns. “Then why is the kitchen stocked with beer?”

Jason huffs a laugh that sounds anything but amused. He drops his eyes and reaches for another beer, regarding it with a contemplative expression. After a moment, he shakes his head, his lips still curved in a rueful smile. “I keep the place stocked with liquor and booze because I know damn well any time I end up here, I’m gonna need a drink.”

Ouch. Tim almost regrets asking. He takes another sip of his beer. It’s not bad, cold and refreshing with rich undertones. The bubbles tickle his throat on the way down and he’s starting to feel pleasantly lightheaded. “So where do you usually stay?” Might as well start figuring out the lay of the land. After all, he’s probably going to be around for a long while.

Even if Cataclysm-Bruce’s calculations were wrong, Tim’s stays in each universe have lengthened with each jump. Odds are good he’s going to be here for at least a decade, one way or another.

“I’ve got my own place. I use the Bunker under Wayne Tower sometimes, too.” Jason rubs the back of his neck, looking uncharacteristically hesitant. “Uh, if you had the same fight that happened here after Darkseid put B down for the count, you probably remember it. The abandoned subway station, the one where I, uh, did the whole stabbing thing with the batarang.” He winces, looking apologetic. “I live there—nice and convenient, you know?” He shrugs. “It’s way better equipped now. Still nothing on this place, but…” He knocks back another beer, a shadow crossing his face.

Well, that sounds grim as hell. Tim definitely remembers the subway station. It was _not_ a place where he thinks anyone would willingly choose to spend time, let alone live.

“Yeah, I remember.” He bites his lip. He also remembers Jason’s words to him back then—the taunting offer he made shortly before things went completely off the rails. He finds himself feeling oddly nostalgic. “Hey, Jason. You know what?” Tim raises a brow and gives him a faint, hopeful smile. “Let's try something a little different this time. Yes. Yes, I will be your Robin.”

He has to find something to keep himself occupied here, after all. Why not partner up with the only Bat left standing? They can punch criminals together and never speak about the various horrific traumas in their respective pasts. It’ll be great. Bruce would be proud.

His heart twists at the reminder that he’s never going to see Bruce, or any of the others, ever again.

Jason’s head jerks as he turns to look at him, his eyes wide. His mouth falls open slightly. “You—wait, what? Aren’t you planning to try to get home?”

Tim sighs. Maybe he didn’t manage to include everything in his explanation earlier. “Jason, I can never go home. If the energy attached to me during my use of the doomsday reset device ten years ago has finally dissipated, then I’m going to be here for the rest of my life.”

The way he and the various Bruces who have studied the problem with him over the years see it, all of the energy that was supposed to go into creating a parallel universe in one fell swoop has been released slowly over time instead—a trickle instead of a torrent, with him as the focus. Because he doesn’t have any readings on his energy levels in the first universe he landed in, it’s impossible to calculate the exact quantities of energy which have already dissipated, so it’s difficult to be sure how much is left. They know how much should have been released when the doomsday reset device was used, but that’s not very useful information either, considering it clearly malfunctioned.

Cataclysm-Bruce was positive that his model accounted for the unknowns. Tim’s mind still catches on the uncertainties, and he wonders.

Jason frowns, eyeing him with an expression of concern. “What if it hasn't? What then?”

Tim swallows. “Then at some point I disappear from here, get thrown into another universe, and start over again there.” He shivers, then looks back at the other man with a faint smile. “Although if the pattern so far holds true, I’m probably going to be here for a long time either way. I stayed in the first universe for a year, over three years in the second, and six years in the third. The intervals between jumps are getting longer.”

If only he’d known to collect energy readings on himself in the first universe he landed in. Those data points would be invaluable in tracking the rate at which his energy accumulation has been slowing with each jump. If he knew how much he started with and the rate of accrual there, he’d be able to refine his calculations on whether the rate of reduction in energy accrual which occurs every time he jumps universes is linear or logarithmic. That knowledge would allow him to definitively answer the question of whether he’ll stay here, or continue skipping across the multiverse for the rest of his life at ever-increasing intervals.

“Fuck. That sucks, man.” Jason shakes his head and reaches for another couple of beers, one of which he holds out to Tim. “Sounds like you need this.”

Tim eyes the extended beer, then looks at his own nearly-full bottle. He thinks about the hell of uncertainty he’s probably going to be living with for the rest of his life. “It _does_ suck,” he says, frowning. Feeling reckless, he lifts his beer and downs what’s left in several long, burning swallows, then reaches out to accept the next.

Jason chuckles. “You know, I think this situation calls for something special. I can skip patrol tonight. Wanna go to the media room, blow the dust off the screens, and watch something? We can order pizza and drink the rest of this cheap beer. It’ll be awesome.”

Snickering, Tim shakes his head. “Alfred would be appalled.”

They both pause for a moment, wincing at the reminder of someone else who isn’t here. Then Jason straightens his shoulders, grabs the rest of the six pack, and gestures to the doorway. “Yeah, he would, wouldn’t he? Let’s watch something fancy and British to make up for it—I nominate Pride and Prejudice.” He grins.

Tim rolls his eyes. “You would’ve chosen that anyway,” he complains, but he doesn’t really care. A comedy of manners about characters with problems a thousand times removed from reality sounds just about perfect right now. “Okay, let’s do this.”

He has no illusions that Jason is actually going to let his guard down around him entirely. Not yet, at least. They’re both far too well trained to trust so quickly, and the natural paranoia of the Bat is probably screaming that Tim is a potential threat. He doubts Jason will drink much more beer tonight. Neither will he.

This is a start, though. And pizza sounds damn good. Tim meets Jason’s eyes again and gives him a hesitant smile as they head out the door.

The media room is just as awesome as he remembers, if a little dusty. Everything in Wayne Manor seems to be in surprisingly good condition—Jason must pay someone to maintain everything at least a couple of times a year. Tim thinks about what he remembers of Jason’s grim headquarters in the abandoned subway station, and grimaces at the comparison.

Unless Jason has completed a thorough renovation since he last saw that place, it’s awful and definitely not somewhere anyone but rats should be living.

Yeah, he’s going to have to see what he can do to help here. Maybe he can convince Jason to live in an actual apartment instead of spending all his time in his crime fighting lair. Even Bruce knew enough to take a break once in a while to separate the man from the Bat.

Tim wonders just how long Jason has been wearing the cowl. How long has he been carrying it all alone?

The sounds of witty banter and tinkling laughter draw his attention to the screen, where beautiful, richly attired men and women are smiling at each other, about to fall in love. He glances over at Jason and is surprised to see him grinning, mouthing the words along with the characters. He looks so much younger when he smiles. Tim frowns slightly as he realizes he doesn’t even know how old this Jason is.

Research is in order, obviously. But first—he just got here. This is the first time he’s landed in a world which isn’t actively fighting an ongoing disaster. He slouches down in his seat with a sigh.

He’s going to take a night off. 

* * *

Tim wakes up and opens his eyes, and then immediately wishes he hadn’t. Why does he always forget that he’s a complete lightweight who is completely done after one beer? “Ow,” he whines, squeezing his eyes closed and hoping the pounding headache will go away if he just manages to fall asleep for a few more hours.

“Hey there,” a warm, amused-sounding voice says, and he cracks an eye open to see Jason, who is standing over him and holding out a water bottle. He’s changed into jeans and a black t-shirt and he has a bemused smile on his face, and a soft look in his teal eyes. “You don’t look so hot.”

“I hate alcohol,” Tim mutters, closing his eye again and then reaching blindly out to fumble for the water. He feels it being pressed obligingly into his hand a moment later, and smiles before lifting it to his lips to drink.

Maybe he was wrong about Jason not trusting him. Or maybe he just misjudged the number of fucks the other man has left to give.

“Sorry,” Jason is saying, sounding adorably flustered. “I swear I didn’t bring you up here to get you drunk in my creepy, abandoned mansion. Shit, that sounds terrible when I say it like that. I never drank with Tim before, so I didn’t realize you were such a lightweight.”

Tim cracks open his eye again. “Shut up—I’m not a lightweight. You’re a lightweight.” It’s possible he isn’t entirely coherent while hungover. It doesn’t help that he hasn’t had coffee yet, either. He eyes Jason speculatively, wondering what he’d have to do to get some coffee.

There are a _lot_ of things he’d be willing to do to get some coffee.

“You just gotta ask,” Jason says, looking away. He clears his throat, shifting awkwardly. Is that a blush on his cheeks? Also, did he just read Tim’s mind? Jason turns back to stare at him with a weird expression. “No? Dude, you’re narrating your thoughts right now. Are we sure you’re not high?”

Damn it. Tim needs coffee. “Sorry,” he says, hoping he can salvage something from what he’s pretty sure is going to be a very embarrassing interlude when he’s looking back on it later from a more coherent vantage point.

“No worries,” Jason says, looking like he’s biting back a laugh. “I’ll go see if I can scrounge up some coffee. Uh, no promises about its condition. If I manage to find any, it’s definitely been sitting around here for a few years.”

With that, he pads out of what Tim only now realizes is one of the guest rooms in the East Wing. He’s lying fully clothed except for his boots on top of the covers. He stretches, then winces. Yeah, it wasn’t a bright idea not to change out of their uniforms before hanging out last night. At least they took off the cowls and gloves before eating the pizza. He would not be happy to wake up with cowl-lines imprinted on his face.

Tim gets to his feet and winces, wishing he had some civilian clothing to change into. As he steps out of the room, a closed door near the end of the hall catches his eye. He makes a face at the thought of disturbing a dead boy’s room, but—it’s _him,_ or at least his alternate self. He’s pretty sure this universe’s Timmy wouldn’t mind.

Plus, he really wants to change out of the Red Robin suit. Well-tailored and meticulously designed or not, it gets pretty uncomfortable after the first twelve hours or so.

A few minutes later, he emerges from Timmy’s room far more comfortably attired in a pair of well-worn sweats and a soft, faded band t-shirt. He hasn’t grown that much since he was seventeen, so they’re only a bit tight around his shoulders and thighs. Everything smells a little musty, but there were no holes or other signs of neglect and decay.

He tries not to look at the other doors he passes as he makes his way down to the kitchen, following the aroma of brewing coffee. By the faded but recognizable scent, he knows that it’s Bruce’s favored blend. It has gone stale. Something about that makes him want to cry.

“Oh, you changed,” Jason says, looking up from where he’s standing by the stovetop, poking at something in a pan with a spatula. His mouth falls open as he stares at Tim for a long moment. Then he shakes his head and looks down, blinking and blushing furiously. He clears his throat. “Glad you found some clothes.”

Tim smiles, and then raises an eyebrow as he remembers Jason saying he doesn’t keep the Wayne Manor kitchen stocked these days. “Uh, what’s in the pan?” He really, really hopes it isn’t something Jason dug out of the freezer that’s been desiccating in there for the past five years.

“Shut up—it’s only been in the freezer for like two years. Frozen sausage lasts that long, right?” Jason peers down at the pan worriedly.

_Ew. That sounds sketchy, but…_

The delicious mixed aromas of coffee and sausage—questionably old or not—is enough to override Tim’s embarrassment about apparently having been narrating his thoughts again. He really needs coffee, and food doesn’t sound too bad now either. Thankfully, his hangover already seems to be subsiding.

“It’s probably fine,” he says hopefully, padding over to Jason’s side to look into the pan. It looks like normal sausage. He glances up and meets Jason’s pretty teal eyes. He doesn’t seem quite so tired and hopeless this morning. Tim smiles. “I’m down to try it if you are.”

Jason gives him a lopsided grin. “Livin’ on the wild side. I like it.” Reaching into the pan, he deftly snags a sizzling sausage and nips a bite off one end.

Shrugging, Tim does the same, sending a quick mental apology to Alfred while he’s at it for his poor table manners. The sausage is delicious. He pours himself a mug of coffee and then takes a swig, please to find the coffee isn’t half bad. It’s entirely possible Tim might not be the best judge of that, though, considering he’d probably eat raw grounds at this point and like it.

“That’s disgusting, Tim,” Jason says, eyeing him with an expression of bemused, fond disgust. “Let me know whenever you start to feel like that, and I’ll make you some goddamn coffee. I never wanna catch you eating the fucking grounds—Jesus Christ.” He chomps off another bite of sausage, his judgemental grumbles trailing off as he begins to chew.

Tim blushes and avoids eye contact while he lifts his mug and takes a gulp. At least if he’s drinking, he can’t unintentionally narrate his inner monologue. Also, the sooner he gets caffeine into his system and wakes up properly, the better. There’s clearly still a lot to learn about this world. Every new fact just seems to open the door for more questions, and the last thing he needs is to blurt out anything insensitive in front of poor Jason.

No, he’ll have to do the real research on his own. Tim sips his coffee, plans and contingencies forming in his mind. He needs more information. Well, good thing he’s damn good at detective work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Tim, waking up in new world once more:** *Experiences emotional overload resulting in state of empty, numbed horror* “Well at least the numbness protects me from new shocks” *Sees memorial cases for every member of his family, numbness immediately wears off* “…Shit”  
>  **Jason, from right behind him:** “Well damn, I’m not used to seeing anyone around here” *Shifts awkwardly, looking embarrassed*  
>  **Tim, shocked out of his sadness:** “Why aren’t you wearing any pants?”  
>  **Jason, defensively:** “Like I said, I’m usually the only one here! Of course I don’t wear any fuckin’ pants!” *Frowns, eyeing Tim* “Anyway, the hell are you doing here? Is it vengeance? It’s vengeance, isn’t it?”  
>  **Tim, shrugging:** “No? More like a giant cosmic joke with me as the punchline. Btw I might disappear at any moment, unwillingly wrenched into a series of increasingly terrible alternate universes”  
>  **Jason, blinking:** “Huh. Okay, I think we need some beer”


	5. Chapter 5

Tim tries to keep his expression neutral as he looks around the abandoned subway station Jason has been using as his main base for the past however many years. It’s even more depressing than he expected.

“It’s—nice,” he says, wincing at the blatant lie. It isn’t nice—it’s horrific.

Jason raises an eyebrow and huffs a laugh. “Naw, I know it’s shit. It works for me, though.” He pauses as though considering saying something more, then shakes his head. “I’m going to go see what I can turn up in terms of multiverse tech in my storage. Might be able to find something that can help you figure your shit out. You, uh, probably don’t wanna come with.”

“Why not?” Tim has developed a pretty good understanding of various types of portal-related tech over the past decade, for obvious reasons. “I can help.”

Jason rubs the back of his head and shrugs, looking sheepish. “I’ve got a lot of traps rigged to do very bad things if anyone but me goes back there. It’s been a long damn time since I worked with anyone else, so I never bothered setting up a way to disarm them if I needed to bring someone else in. Feel free to poke around in here while I’m gone, though. If you can get through the security on my Batcomputer, I figure you’ve earned the right to dig through my files.” He flashes a grin and then disappears down a dark tunnel.

Tim turns to the gleaming array of screens and servers that constitutes Jason’s version of the Batcomputer. “Challenge accepted,” he whispers with a sharp smile. He’s got this.

Twenty frustrating minutes later, he finally breaks through the last layer of protection. Jason has some damn good security, but there’s enough of Barbara’s and Bruce’s influence still there to help Tim crack it. He recognizes a few of their old tricks and feels a pang of nostalgia before he squashes it. The rest is easy.

He experiences what would have been a few nasty shocks if he weren’t wearing his Red Robin suit with its non-conductive gloves, but that’s par for the course with any Bat-level security system.

“Here we go,” he whispers, finally in. He accesses the mainframe and immediately seeks out the files for the other Bats. He still isn’t sure this is information he wants, but it’s data he needs if he’s going to live in this world for any sizable amount of time.

He takes a shaky breath and clicks on Bruce’s file.

An interminable length of time later, Tim startles at the feeling of a hand on his shoulder. “What—?” He jerks around and sees Jason, who is staring at him with a lost, worried expression. He’s clutching a piece of equipment to his chest, but he seems more concerned about Tim.

“Fuck, I didn’t think you’d actually manage to get in. Damn it. I wouldn’t have left you alone if I knew you were going to be reading that shit.” Jason swallows, his gaze darting back and forth over Tim’s face. He sets the equipment down on the desk and then reaches out a hand, his brow furrowed in evident worry. Ever so gently, he brushes his fingers over Tim’s cheek.

It’s only when he draws his hand away, moisture glistening on the tips of his fingers, that Tim realizes he’s crying. Tim blinks, trying to clear his vision, and then shakes his head in embarrassment. “Sorry,” he says, feeling like an idiot for losing control of his emotions. After all, this isn’t even his world. He’s not the one who lost them. His shoulders shake and he pulls in a deep breath, trying to force his body to calm down. He sniffs and looks up at Jason. “I’m so sorry you went through all that.”

Every file he clicked on seemed worse than the one before it. It was agonizing for him just reading about the deaths of their friends and family. It must have been so much worse for Jason, actually being there and living through the aftermath. In some cases—Dick’s and Bruce’s deaths in particular come to mind—Jason actually saw it happen.

His face crumples at the thought.

Jason looks distressed, worried about _him_. “Hey, c’mon now. It happened, it sucked, I dealt with it. It’s nothing _you_ need to worry about—we’re going to figure out a way to send you home, okay? Or at least back to one of those places where you were happy.”

Tim blinks, tears arrested at the suggestion. His trajectory through the multiverse has been beyond his control for so long, he’s never even seriously considered the possibility of reversing it. “Do you think that’s possible?” He’s pretty sure one of the Bruces would have suggested it if they thought it was an option. Then again, this universe is probably a bit more advanced in terms of available tech, considering it’s farther down the timeline and isn’t currently embroiled in a potentially world-changing catastrophe. That kind of thing tends to impede scientific progress a bit. 

“Maybe.” Jason shrugs, his expression smoothing out now that Tim is calming down again. “I figure we can take some readings, see what we get.”

“Okay,” Tim sighs, then turns back to the computer. His gaze catches on the file photos for a moment—Babs, Dick, Steph, and Cass all smile back at him from the uppermost files, looking so vibrantly alive that his throat swells again.

He quickly closes their files, then shuts the others without looking. “So, what have we got?” He turns back to Jason, who looks relieved as he gestures to the piece of equipment he carried out.

“This is a scanner that should be able to pick up the multiverse portal energy you mentioned. We can get some baseline readings and repeat them again on a daily basis to get an idea of whether it’s still increasing, and if so, how fast.”

Tim nods, feelings of sadness draining slightly as his mind engages with the new challenge. “That sounds good. I can upload the readings we took in the last two universes—I’ve got them stored on my wrist computer. We should be able to use those to run a comparison and some models.” 

Jason nods. “Let’s get to work.” He begins setting up the equipment, a determined expression on his handsome face.

Tim reaches out to assist him, very familiar with much of the tech after all of his experiences over the years. He wants to ask so many questions about what happened here, but he isn’t sure if it’s worth stirring things up just to satisfy his own curiosity. He settles on asking, “So, how did you end up becoming Batman? I guess I would’ve expected you to continue on as Red Hood, after.”

It doesn’t make sense. The only time in his experience Jason Todd took on the cowl, it was to become a crazed, gun-toting Batman. Tim checked the files here, and that’s definitely not what happened. This Jason as Batman doesn’t carry a gun. He has been carrying out the Mission with an impressive level of competence, intelligence, and minimal—for Jason—bloodshed. How did he get to this point?

He’s thirty years old, just over two years older than Tim, and he has managed to keep on moving even though he’s spent most of his life walking through hell. He’s incredible, but Tim wants to understand why he’s wearing the suit and not just fixing the city his way, at gunpoint.

Jason inhales deeply, then breathes out in a long, quiet sigh. His eyes close and his brow furrows. He looks so exhausted and sad that Tim wishes he could take the question back.

“I’m sorry—” Tim starts, his face falling.

“It’s fine,” Jason says, even though it clearly isn’t. He opens his eyes and Tim’s breath catches at the glimmer of tears he sees there. “He asked us to.” Jason clears his throat and continues gruffly, not meeting his eyes. “We all promised B on his deathbed that someone would take up the cowl. I just—never imagined there’d come a time when I would be the only one left to do it.”

“Jay,” Tim whispers, stricken.

Jason shakes his head and lets out a shaky laugh, swiping a hand over his eyes. “I wouldn’t put it past him to have planned it this way, the old bastard. Fucking controlling—” The corners of his mouth draw down in a deep frown and he squeezes his eyes shut, clearly fighting for control.

He loses the battle. A soft sob slips past his clenched jaw as though wrenched from him and his shoulders begin to shudder. Shit. This was a mistake.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry—” Tim doesn’t even consider what he’s doing. One moment, he’s watching the only person he knows in this universe falling apart before his eyes. The next, he’s wrapping his arms around Jason’s broad shoulders and drawing the big man into a close embrace, trying to give him whatever comfort he can. “Shh, Jason, shh. You’re not alone now. I’m here—you’ve got me.”

Jason sobs again and then curls down and buries his face in Tim’s neck, muffling his own sobs. His big, strong arms slip around Tim’s waist and he holds him tightly, as though he’s afraid he’ll slip away too the moment he lets him go.

He rubs Jason’s back and whispers soothing words, trying desperately to fix what his inconsiderate questions tore open. Of course Jason’s still grieving. He probably hasn’t given himself a chance to truly process everything he has lost to the vigilante lifestyle, especially considering he kept having to pick up the slack and carry an increased caseload burden with each death.

“I’m so sorry,” Tim whispers again, feeling helpless in the face of the other man’s grief. His own losses rise up to taunt him—he may not have seen it happen the same way, but every world wrenched out from under him feels like another death.

He holds the shuddering, tired man in his arms, and wishes he could promise to stay. His heart twists at the thought of leaving him all alone again.

Tim blinks back tears and forces his mind to focus. Maybe he can help bring Jason to a healthier place. Not everyone is dead here—he saw references to a few of the Birds of Prey in the files, although they don’t seem to spend much time in Gotham these days. As far as he can tell, Jason isolated himself in his grief. It’s an understandable reaction. If someone has been hurt enough, they’ll do anything to protect their heart from further losses. Even close it.

The original Batman is a perfect illustration of that. If Tim can help Jason reconnect with others, maybe move into an apartment, or at least a decent safe house so he isn’t literally living in a gloomy cave—well, he won’t be happy when the time comes to go, but at least he’ll have hope that Jason will be okay.

Resolved, Tim smiles into Jason’s broad chest. He has already offered to be Jason’s Robin, but now he’s going to do what he can to be his Oracle and his Alfred, as well, as he helps him to rebuild his team. It has clearly been far too long since he’s had any kind of support system in place.

Tim’s going to do his best to change that.

* * *

Red Robin flies after Batman, falling easily into the ingrained pattern of patrolling with the Bat. The silhouette the black cape makes as Batman crosses the sky in front of him is so achingly familiar that it’s hard for a moment to believe it isn’t Bruce in the cowl.

Well, the illusion breaks down a bit when Batman starts to chuckle malevolently into the comm. It shatters entirely when he begins to speak. “Hey now, looks like we got a little drug deal goin’ down. The Ghosts should know better than to try selling in this part of town—there’s a damn school right over there. Shitheads deserve a lesson.” He drops out of the sky and lands in a dark flurry of punches, kicks, and screaming, flailing drug dealers.

Red Robin scans the scene during his own descent and quickly chooses his target. He lands on a burly thug who was trying to flee the scene. “Who the fuck are you?” the man blurts out, then grimaces as Red Robin drives a knee into his kidney. “Batman got a new Robin again? Damn, it’s been a while. You’re almost as mean as the last one.”

If he’s talking about Damian, then Red Robin isn’t sure whether to take that as a compliment or not. He’ll think about it later. “I’m Red Robin,” he says. “And you’re going to jail.” He zip ties the thug’s wrists and ankles, then rises to his feet. He checks the scene and sees that Batman has already dealt with the other two and is now moving to talk to the potential customers, a group of four kids huddled nearby. They’re watching the action with wary eyes.

They look like they’re barely into their teens. Red Robin winces. If there’s one thing he’s confident won’t have changed, it’s that Jason abhors drug dealing, especially to kids. He approaches the group, wondering if he’ll need to run interference. Part of the reason Batman generally has a Robin is because the Bat is so terrifying to the average citizen.

Bruce wouldn’t talk for hours once after he accidentally scared a little kid so badly that the child wet himself. Red Robin’s pretty sure that Jaybats would be the same, utterly horrified if he scared someone he didn’t mean to frighten.

As it turns out, Batman has things well in hand. “How’s your little brother doing, Micah? You take him to the clinic I told you about?” Batman slouches, looking relaxed and about a hundred times less intimidating than he did a minute ago when he was punching men into the filthy street.

The kid he’s talking to—Micah, apparently—nods, giving him a shy smile. “Yeah. The doctor was really nice. She gave him some medicine and he’s getting better.” He hesitates and looks away.

Batman frowns. “But?”

Micah shrugs. “It gets cold at night,” he says simply. “That’s not good for his cough.”

The other kids are starting to edge away, probably wary of being seen talking to Batman for too long. Batman sighs, digs into one of his belt compartments, and pulls out some cash. “Take this and buy yourself and your friends something hot to eat, okay?”

The kids stare at the money for less than a second before Micah’s skinny arm darts out to claim it. “Thanks, B-man!” He flashes them a sweet grin and then spins, bolting away with the other kids.

Batman stares after them for a long moment.

“Friends of yours?” Red Robin asks cautiously. This is the first sign he’s seen of Jason having friends, or at least human contact that doesn’t involve him hitting bad guys in the face.

“I guess,” Batman shrugs. “I try to look out for ‘em, y’know? Problem is, they got nowhere to stay, and half the shelters in the city are shit. The other half are just plain corrupt.” He shakes his head, then straightens, clearly ready to get back to business. “Got to swing by the docks before we head back to the Station. You ready?” He looks at Red Robin expectantly.

Red Robin nods, then follows as Batman takes to the air again. All the while, his mind is reworking his plans for helping Jason. Those kids need a safe place to live, Jason needs more human contact, Jason owns a huge mansion that’s just sitting empty, moldering away—

Well, the solution seems pretty obvious to him. He’ll look into it a little more before he brings the idea up.

* * *

Jason’s living quarters in the Station don’t bear thinking about, Tim decides as he explores the base. With every new discovery, his sense of horror grows. He keeps hearing a rustling sound, and he _knows_ it’s not bats. The sad army cot tucked behind the stained counter in the old ticketing area is just depressing, as is the fact that the ‘kitchen’ is just a battered minifridge and a microwave tucked under the counter.

Tim does a double take when he notices there are now _two_ sad army cots tucked behind the stained counter. There was only one a few minutes ago. Jason must have set it up for him.

His face twists into an expression somewhere between laughing and wanting to cry. “How thoughtful,” he murmurs. “There’s no way in hell I’m sleeping down here, though.” He hears an unmistakable squeaking noise followed by the sound of scurrying. Shuddering, he searches the corners. “I refuse to live in the Rat Cave when I know there’s a perfectly good mansion available, not to mention dozens of safe houses with actual beds and kitchens. And bathrooms— _god.”_

He can’t believe Jason is still using the ancient, dilapidated public restrooms which were built—and probably last _cleaned_ —about forty years ago, when this place was a working subway station. So gross. Also, how the heck does he shower?

Frowning, Tim glances over at where Jason is going over the results from the energy measurements they collected earlier today. The last thing he wants is to alienate the other man, but he _really_ doesn’t want to sleep here tonight. Or ever have to use the facilities here again.

“Damn,” Jason says after a moment, frowning as he studies the screen. “I don’t think this tech is precise enough for what we need. It shows the energy readings okay, but there’s none of the finer gradations in vibrational signature to quantify which universe you came from originally. Definitely nothing we can use to track back to where you’ve been.”

Well, Tim was halfway expecting that. It takes a powerful piece of machinery to study the multiverse at all, let alone perform the kind of fine analyses they’re attempting. None of the Bruces ever considered it worth trying to track him backwards through the multiverse—all of them were always focused on trying to figure out where he was going, and find a way to stop him falling through a portal again. That being said, it might be possible to adapt the tech in the Cave for their purposes.

He blinks. Actually, this could fit in pretty well with his desire to get Jason out of this place. “I think there might be something we could use at the Bat Cave,” he offers carefully.

Tim doesn’t want to make Jason spend time somewhere he finds upsetting, but the other man didn’t seem that distressed this morning. It’s possible that exposure to Wayne Manor and the memories there are a little easier to handle when he has someone else around to draw him back to the present and distract him from the memories that haunt the place.

Jason frowns, drumming his fingers on the desktop, and then nods briskly. Straightening, he takes a deep breath as though bracing himself. “Yeah, okay. That’s probably the best plan.”

Tim gives him a little smile, hoping he isn’t screwing this up. “Wanna maybe stop for groceries on the way?” He doesn’t want to keep rolling the dice with all that expired food. They’ve both survived a hell of a lot—he does _not_ want to go out due to food poisoning.

Plus, he’s dead certain Jason would put something horribly embarrassing on his epitaph. 

That suggestion gets him a real grin. Jason chuckles, nodding, and then heads over to the luggage lockers to change. Because of course he keeps all of his uniforms and civilian clothing in the eerie, spider-filled luggage lockers in his abandoned subway station base. “Are you complaining about my sausages?” he says, flicking a teasing glance back over his shoulder.

“Your sausage is delicious,” Tim blurts out, then blushes bright red as he catches up with the implications of what he just said. “Oh god.” He buries his face in his hands.

Jason snickers. “Glad you think so.”

Tim lowers his hands and looks up, planning to change the subject to something innocuous like what to get for dinner, then freezes. Jason is shirtless, the rippling muscles in his back flexing as he reaches for a t-shirt. He’s gorgeous, but that isn’t what has Tim staring at him, unable to move.

“Jay, your back—” He breaks off, realizing the scars likely aren’t something Jason wants to talk about, but it’s too late.

Jason’s back tenses and he stills for a moment, then sighs softly. After another deep breath, he continues calmly going through the motions of getting dressed. He pulls his shirt on, the soft-looking material sliding down to cover the impressive array of scars that mark his back. He turns around then, his gaze searching. Whatever he sees on Tim’s face causes him to visibly relax. He shrugs, giving him a crooked smile. “You saw the files. I was there for most of their deaths. You don’t walk through that kinda hell without picking up a few scars.”

“That was more than a few,” Tim whispers, his throat tight.

He has an unaccountable urge to reach out and trace his fingers over Jason’s shirt where he knows the scars are. Or his lips. He blinks, flushing again. Whoops. Looks like the crush he’s developed on pretty much every version of Jason Todd he’s ever met is present and accounted for here, too.

Well, maybe this time, it can actually come to something. If Jason’s even interested. And if Tim himself can be certain he isn’t going to slip away unexpectedly. It wouldn’t be fair to either of them to start anything under these circumstances, not until he’s sure he’s stable.

Jason is looking at him, an unfathomable expression on his handsome face. “Bet you have more than a few of your own, Tim.”

Tim’s brow furrows. He has actually managed to get away with surprisingly few scars, considering all of the insane situations he’s been in. The splenectomy is the worst—most of the others have faded over the years, or are small enough so as not to be particularly noticeable. “Not really,” he says honestly.

Jason gives him a sad, wry smile. “Not talking about the scars on your skin.”

“Ah.” Well, if they’re going by emotional scarring, Tim’s not actually sure who would win—lose?—between the two of them. Losing every member of the family one by one over the years is horrific.

So is doing it again, and again, and again…

He shakes off that thought and clears his throat. They need to lift the mood soon, or tonight’s going to end in beers and hangovers again. It’s not that he didn’t enjoy that last night—well, the fun part, not the hangover—but he’s pretty sure they shouldn’t make too much of a habit of it. That isn’t a coping mechanism either of them needs to pick up.

Tim raises his eyebrows. “Anyway, while we’ve definitely established that your sausage is delicious—” He hears Jason choke, and he grins. It’s so much easier when he makes awkward innuendos on purpose and can thus brace for the impact. Doing it by accident is just embarrassing all around. “Sausage seems like more of a breakfast thing. Got any other ideas for dinner tonight?”

Jason waggles his eyebrows and gives him an exaggerated leer. “I’ll have you know my sausage is fuckin’ delicious _all_ the time.” He snickers as Tim turns bright red. “But yeah, let’s get some shit to make stir fry. That sounds good right now.” He gestures to his pathetic excuse for a kitchen and clears his throat. “It’s, uh, been a while. Obviously. But I’m pretty sure I still remember how to cook properly.”

“Great!” Tim grins at him. “I guess I should tell you, I’m only cleared to chop vegetables.”

“Cleared?” Jason looks mildly puzzled.

“Oh, the Jasons and Alfreds in the last few universes each banned me and my alternate selves from the kitchen after certain—uh, incidents.” He clears his throat. No way is he going into the details. It’s too embarrassing. Also, he’s still a little traumatized by the thing with the octopus. Who knew it would try to get out of the pan like that? He and Timmy were convinced the thing was possessed, or possibly an alien.

No one should have blamed them for the whole fire extinguisher thing. Although the unfortunate bo-staff fire was probably like seventy percent their fault. Okay, ninety percent. Tim blinks, derailing his train of thought with difficulty and pulling himself back to the present.

Jason is staring at him with an expression of reluctant fascination. “I do not want to know how the hell that happened. Even _Bruce_ still got kitchen rights, and that man could ruin a tuna fish sandwich.”

“Don’t remind me.” Tim makes a face as his stomach rebels at the memory. Now _that_ was a true crime against food.

Jason chuckles, a real smile on his face as he starts to laugh. “You, too? Man, I thought I was the only one who suffered through that shitshow.”

Tim smiles back. One of the many things his trip through the multiverse has taught him is that moments of connection and overlap like this are precious. His memories are the only piece of home he carries with him from place to place. Finding someone who shares even a fraction of them feels like coming home.

The memory of that ghastly so-called tuna fish sandwich obtrudes again and he winces. Okay, maybe he would have preferred to bond over a different memory. Whatever, he’ll take what he can get.

“Stir fry sounds good. I’ll be happy to help chop,” he offers.

Jason grins, bumping their shoulders together as they begin to walk out of the Station. “You know I’m not gonna let this go until you tell me all the stories about how the hell you screwed up so bad every Jason and Alfred kicked you outta their kitchens.”

Tim winces, then sighs. “Fine, but we’re getting fresh coffee beans too,” he bargains. He really doesn’t want to have to subsist on stale coffee any longer than he has to.

“Deal,” Jason says, capitulating far too quickly.

Tim narrows his eyes. “You were already planning to buy new coffee, weren’t you?”

“Yep.”

“Damn it.”

“Shoulda held out for more, Baby Bird.” Jason flinches and misses a step after the old nickname slips out. “Shit, sorry.”

“You can call me that,” Tim says carefully. He frowns. “I thought your Tim died before—” He breaks off, biting his lip. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring that up.”

Jason shrugs and keeps walking toward the Station garage. “It’s fine. I never knew him well enough to call him nicknames—at least, not the friendly kind.” He frowns, his jaw working. “But I spent years working with Dickie, after. Guess I kinda picked it up from him. He’d call him nicknames like that when he talked about him.”

Tim brushes his shoulder against Jason’s again. “Like I said, I don’t mind the nickname. It kind of reminds me of home.”

It has been a long time since anyone called him that. In the last few universes, that nickname has been reserved for Timmy. Tim being so much older, the others usually just end up calling him Red. It feels nicer than he would’ve expected to hear this nickname directed at him again.

Jason is still not looking at him, but he has a soft smile on his face. “Got it, Baby Bird.” Their arms keep brushing as they walk, their hands bumping together.

It feels surprisingly good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Jason, making a sweeping gesture:** “So this is where I live—” *Breaks off as giant swarm of hissing, chittering rats surges out of the darkness and skitters across their feet*  
>  **Tim, shrieking and climbing Jason like a particularly muscular tree to escape rising wave of vermin:** “Jesus god why is this happening, this is almost worse than that time I fell through the multiverse forever”  
>  **Jason, shrugging:** “Eh, the rats don’t like strangers. Or days of the week that end in ‘y’. Pretty much, they just like to swarm and bite shit. Uh, watch your toes when you’re sleeping”  
>  **Tim, instantly determining to never, ever fall asleep down here:** *Wonders if Jason has all his toes* “That’s, uh, great. Say, how’s about we head back over to the Cave and check out some of that fancy multiverse equipment?”  
>  **Jason, making a face as though luxurious mansion is somehow worse than rat-infested abandoned subway station:** “Yeah, fine, I guess. But be warned, the rats will probably follow us”  
>  **Tim:** “Wtf” *Decides to spend the rest of his time in this universe helping make Jason’s life better, starting with the goddamn rats* “Let’s do this” *Uses bo-staff to fight back rat swarm as they head out*


	6. Chapter 6

They don’t talk again about the possibility of Tim leaving. The stir fry is delicious, despite the irregularly-chopped vegetables and the slight singeing which occurred when Jason left Tim in charge of the pan. It only took him a few minutes to run down to the wine cellar and grab something to drink with dinner, but that was a little too long for the stir fry.

Tim doesn’t say anything when Jason chooses a bedroom in the West Wing, about as far from the old family bedrooms as he can get without pitching a tent on the lawn. Tim takes the room next to his. He could use a little distance from the old ghosts, too.

The multiverse tech in the Bat Cave is definitely a cut above what Jason has over at the Station. Unfortunately, they still don’t end up getting any definitive answers. In some ways, that just makes it easier for him to keep pretending that he’s here to stay.

Besides, he has plenty to distract him during the month following his arrival in this universe. Between patrol, ongoing research and planning for improving Jason’s support network, and the surprisingly comfortable domesticity he and Jason seem to have slipped into, he’s far too busy to waste any time dwelling on the tenuous nature of his own situation.

“What’s this?” Jason’s curious-sounding voice causes Tim to look up, startled out of his deep focus. He blinks and wonders how long he has been staring at the laptop screen. Probably too long, if Jason’s expression is anything to go by.

“Oh, nothing really. I’m just doing some research on the Gotham social system and available programs for at-risk youth.” Tim turns back to his laptop, frowning. “There isn’t much.” The Neon Knights never happened here, which seems to have had a negative knock-on effect on several other programs and opportunities he remembers from his own universe.

Jason nudges Tim’s feet out of the way and then lowers himself onto the couch next to him with a deep sigh. “No kidding. Gotham’s a trash fire, and the poor excuse for social services is just adding fuel to the flames. Half the orphanages and group homes in the city are covers for fuckin’ drug running, theft, and trafficking.” He looks tired. “I do what I can to clean ‘em out every couple of years, but more just take their place. It’s a fucked up system that’s basically designed to keep churning out new generations of criminals.”

“I agree.” Tim straightens and turns his screen so that Jason can see it. “Look, back in my original universe I was involved in running a foundation called the Neon Knights. We created it to try and help at-risk teens by giving them safe youth shelters and community service work, followed by setting them up with scholarship opportunities and career guidance.”

Jason crowds in close and studies his screen, looking interested. “No shit? That would be a hell of a chance for these kids. I do what I can, but I’m just one guy. The damn system is so corrupt that it’s all I can do to save a few.”

Tim nods, trying not to think about the heat of Jason’s arm and side where their bodies are touching. He smells distractingly good. “I was thinking, maybe we could start something like this here. You inherited Wayne Enterprises, right?” He’s pretty sure he saw something in one of the Batcomputer files about Bruce having arranged for Jason to be recognized as both legally alive, and one of his official heirs. The Wayne fortune in its entirety must have made its way down to him eventually.

A shadow crosses Jason’s face. “Yeah, for all the good that did anyone. I left running the company to Lucius. Figured he’d been running the damn thing for decades, anyway. He passed most of the day-to-day on to his brainy daughter a few years back, the younger one.” He shrugs. “I don’t pay much attention to it.”

Tim tries to hide his excitement. “Wait, do you mean Tam Fox?” He realizes with a start that he hasn’t factored Tam into the equation at all besides a quick lookup to make sure she made it home safely after the fiasco that resulted in his alternate self’s death. Apparently, she missed getting kidnapped by ninja in this universe and just returned to Gotham after a few weeks, frustrated and upset but not the slightest bit traumatized. He’s supremely grateful that she didn’t witness the death of his other self.

“Yeah, that’s the one. You know her?” Jason looks curious and slightly wary.

Grinning, Tim adds a note to his file. “Yep. She’s awesome. In my universe, she helped set up and run the Neon Knights. If she’s in charge at WE, I bet we won’t have any trouble shaking loose some funding.” He revises his budget accordingly and then switches over to the window displaying the various physical locations he’s considering. “These are all places I think would be a good match to set up youth shelters. Close enough to places where disadvantaged youth may congregate—”

“Far enough from known gang hangouts and drug dens to keep the kids safe.” Jason stares at the screen, then points. “Move this one. That’s right by the Triads’ new digs.”

Tim frowns. “I thought I accounted for gang movements based on the updated Batcomputer records. Sorry.” He deletes that proposed group home and adds a note to find a new location for it. Then he pauses, considering. A moment later, he expands the view to show the mainland. As Jason watches, a frown gathering on his handsome brow, Tim adds the proposed group home back at a new location. Wayne Manor.

“Wait, what?” Jason turns and stares at him with a startled expression.

Tim shrugs, feeling awkward as he fumbles to articulate his idea. He has been on the fence about suggesting this one, even though the idea of making Wayne Manor into a home for at-risk youth is what started him on this path in the first place. He just isn’t sure how Jason is going to react to the notion. “Look, the house is just sitting here empty most of the time. I know you’re not comfortable staying here—in fact, I’m looking into building a new base with some decent living quarters attached so we can relocate.”

“The Station has living quarters,” Jason mutters, but he doesn’t sound very convincing.

“Jay, I am not living in the Rat Cave and I don’t think you should either,” Tim says firmly.

“The Rat Ca—Tim, did you just call my super-cool base the goddamn _Rat Cave?”_ Jason looks like he’s torn between being offended and wanting to laugh. His eyes are dancing even as he visibly tries to keep a straight expression.

Tim shrugs. “Just telling it like it is. There are absolutely rats there—don’t even try to deny it. Anyway, in my original universe, I built a pretty sweet base in the old theater in Crime Alley. Saved it from being foreclosed and demolished, then completely renovated the interior to include living quarters above and a base below, all while maintaining the facade and enough of the structure to not completely destroy the historic value.”

“Nice,” Jason says, looking interested but still skeptical. “Not sure it could compete with the Station, though.” He raises an eyebrow in clear challenge.

“The base extended four stories, with an underground parking garage and several concealed entrances. It also included a state of the art computer bank, gym, and crime lab.” He smiles nostalgically. “That place was awesome.” No rats anywhere. Not even one.

Jason snorts, then shakes his head and chuckles. “Okay, is this the moment when you tell me that you already bought the building here and started construction on the damn thing?” He folds his arms, eyeing him with a knowing look.

Tim jumps. “How’d you know that?” He was so careful to hide his tracks. It was supposed to be a surprise.

Jason raises a pitying eyebrow. “Baby Bird, you’ve been using _my_ Batcomputer to launder the funds you liberated from all those cartels we brought down last week. Did you really think you could slip this past me?”

Kind of, yeah. He managed to hide a lot of discretionary purchases in the batarang budget under the original Batman, after all. “Uh,” Tim says, not wanting to offend him but also not wanting to directly lie to him. He can lie to Batman, sure, but he doesn’t want to lie to _Jason_.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, you little shit,” Jason says fondly, digging his elbow gently into Tim’s side.

Tim squeaks and tries to nudge it away. “Quit it,” he complains as he wraps his own arms around Jason’s to trap it in place so he can’t poke at him with it anymore. Jason subsides, snickering, and then leans back, drawing Tim in to rest against his chest.

Neither of them moves for a minute. Tim allows himself to nestle, surreptitiously reveling in the closeness. He can feel Jason’s steady breathing, his broad chest expanding and lifting Tim slightly with each breath. He sighs happily. “Anyway, yeah, I’m building the Nest so we can start using it as a home base if you’re at all interested in that. We can even move all the multiverse tech from the Bat Cave over there so we don’t have to come back here too often except to visit the kids.” He lets go of Jason’s arm to do jazz hands. “Surprise!”

Jason loosely wraps an arm around him and chuckles. “Is that so? Hmm, I’m not sure.” He’s clearly just pretending to have to think about it. “The Station does have its perks…”

“Rodents of unusual size are not perks, Jason!”

“Ha, I love that movie. We gotta watch it sometime.” Jason turns and nuzzles at the top of his head.

Tim feels something pressing lightly against his hair. He almost stops breathing. Was that a kiss? “Sure. I’d be down to watch some Princess Bride. So, is it going to be on the Ratcomputer or on our fancy new flatscreen in the Nest?” He holds his breath. This decision should be completely up to Jason. After all, he’s the one who is going to be living with it indefinitely, even after Tim disappears—

He breaks off that train of thought. _Not thinking about that,_ he reminds himself firmly. _Besides, it might not happen anyway._

Jason just wraps his other arm around him and squeezes lightly. “You’d follow me back to the Station? Even after what you saw when we stopped by there the other night to grab some of my spare gear?”

Tim shudders. That rat-fight was horrible. “They were the size of cats,” he mutters. “But yes. If you go back there, so will I. I’m not leaving you.” Not by choice, anyway.

“Well, you don’t have to.” Jason smirks, holding up a finger. _“If_ you let me have a say in the renovation of the old theater. Knowing you, you’re planning to gut the damn thing and install one of those soulless modern atrocities inside. Open floor plan, white or stainless steel everything, all that bullshit.” He pauses, eyeing him.

Tim tries not to react. No reason to let Jason know he hit the nail on the head. “What would you want to do?” he asks cautiously.

Jason shrugs, smiling faintly. “Preserve more of the character of the old building. Incorporate as much of the detail work and finishes into our apartment as possible—include some of the old theater seats and some other period antiques. You know, fix the old lady up and let her shine. Not peel off her face and staple it to some cheap floozie.”

“Jay, what the fuck? Why’d you have to go there?” He could’ve phrased that differently, but nope, this is Jason. Straight to the horrifying peeling-faces-off analogy. Tim snorts, trying to smother a laugh. “And fine. That sounds… really nice, actually.” It does.

Jason squeezes him again. “Good.”

* * *

Helping Jason isn’t as simple as Tim had hoped. Further perusal of the Batcomputer and other records paints a bleak picture—the Bats aren’t the only heroes who have fallen over the past decade. There are still plenty around, but everyone’s too busy holding down the fort in their own territories to spend much time hanging out socially.

Still, he makes a list of people to reach out to for potential future team ups which might, hopefully, lead to a better safety net for Jason in the long run. His own friends are still around, although he has mixed feelings about contacting Kon, Bart, Cassie, or any of the others.

After all, he isn’t really the Tim they lost. He knows that his presence would be a very visible reminder of someone who is gone. The last thing he wants to do is make anyone uncomfortable. He considers for a moment, and then puts them in the maybe column. They’re an awesome team, if it comes to that. Jay would be lucky to have them.

Roy Harper apparently semi-retired to raise his daughter. Kori goes back and forth between hero work and helping him out with Lian. Tim raises his eyebrows in surprise as he continues to read more about their lives. Why in the world isn’t Jason working with them, or even just visiting every so often? They were a team once. Digging into the file further, he sees a bleak note.

_Increase distance from Harpers and Starfire. Batman is a target and the last thing I need is to bring anyone down with me._

A shiver runs down Tim’s spine as he thinks about the mental place Jason must have been in when he wrote that note. Then he pauses as the date on the note registers. Jason wasn’t Batman yet. Five years ago. It must have been—he mentally double checks the timing, then winces. “Poor Dick,” he whispers.

If Dick began the process of distancing himself from his friends while in the role of Batman, then Damian and Jason probably followed in his footsteps when it was their turn in the cowl. Cass, of course, was Batman for the two years immediately after Bruce’s death and didn’t have many close friends outside of the Bats, anyway.

Tim squeezes his eyes shut, fighting the hot sting of tears as he imagines what all of them went through here, how they suffered. How they fought so hard, and ultimately lost. He remembers the files about their deaths, and the reason that Dick’s Nightwing suit and Damian’s Blackbird suit are the ones on display instead of their respective Batman suits. Apparently, there wasn’t much left of the suits they died in so the survivors used their old suits for their memorials.

Cass is a different story. She must have known what she was heading into, and chose to go out as Black Bat one last time. His face twists as he tries not to think about how awful it must have been for each of them in those final moments before the end.

As much as he wishes he had landed here a decade earlier when he might have actually been able to do some good, he didn’t. Except under highly specific circumstances, he can’t change the past or fix it. Even then, there’s a price.

He has spent a sizable chunk of his life learning that particular lesson.

All he can do is keep moving forward, doing what good he can wherever life takes him. Tim bites his lip, wondering if he’s overstepping with this particular plan. Jason chose to be alone, after all. He tilts his head, then shrugs. _He_ didn’t choose to be alone. If he sends a few emails to some of his old friends’ alternate selves, well, what’s the harm in that? And if he happens to invite them over now and again for team ups or whatever, and they just happen to reconnect with Jason as well…

Okay, yeah, he’s probably overstepping. But Jason is lonely and he doesn’t have to be. Decided, Tim leans forward and starts to compose a message.

* * *

“I can’t believe you set the three of us up on the vigilante equivalent of a goddamn playdate,” Jason complains, pulling off his old helmet and attempting to scowl. It isn’t working very well. The corners of his lips keep trying to twitch into a broad grin.

Tim spins in his chair at the computer bank in the Nest, trying to keep his expression innocent. He’s pretty sure he’s failing in the attempt. “You didn’t have fun?”

Over the comm, he hears Starfire and Arsenal wishing them well as they sign off. “Stay in touch this time, jackass! Oh, and Jaybird, your new boyfriend is hot! Get it!” Arsenal seems to have gotten the wrong idea about the pair of them somewhere along the way.

Tim winces, feeling his face grow hot. Whoops.

“Indeed! Jason is a most deserving man who will make an excellent partner, and you both seem quite taken with one another. Celebrate your love together!” Apparently, Arsenal isn’t the only one with the wrong idea. At least they sound happy about it?

Tim blushes harder, grateful that Jason already took his helmet off and therefore didn’t hear any of that. He makes a mental note to correct Starfire’s and Arsenal’s mistaken assumptions later.

Jason rolls his eyes at Tim’s question. “Are you kidding? This is the first time I wore my old Red Hood suit in years. I forgot how much hell we all used to raise when we got together.” He grins. “We blew up three abandoned buildings—of course we had fun.” He runs his gloved fingers through his sweaty curls, the white streak catching the light as he looks down, frowning. “But Roy and Kori—they’re busy. They’ve got a life, a good one. I shouldn’t—” 

“Be too dependent on their friendship? Put them at risk?” Tim leans forward, shaking his head earnestly. “I think you might be letting the cowl get to you if you really think that always working alone is the solution.”

Tim has been the voice in the team’s ears all night, guiding Red Hood, Starfire, and Arsenal through the ins and outs of taking down a major drug and human trafficking ring headquartered in Gotham. The arrangement was reasonable on the face of it—having someone back at base to keep an eye on all of the security feeds and an ear on the targets just made sense.

It was also a great excuse to give the others a chance to reconnect without getting in the way himself. 

It has been a few weeks since he got in touch with Roy and some of his other old friends. Introducing himself as Tim Drake from another universe was a little weird, but everyone took it pretty much in stride. After all, they’ve dealt with far stranger things.

When he and Roy realized a narcotics case that Tim and Jason were working on had a connection to a trafficking operation Kori was investigating in a different city, it seemed like too good an opportunity to pass up. As they unraveled the threads of the operation, they began to realize just how big it was. A team up was the obvious solution.

Jason was a little surprised when Tim revealed his plan, but he went along with it without too much argument. Tim’s suggestion that he wear the Red Hood suit so he could blow things up with impunity might’ve had something to do with that. Tim smirks. Blowing things up is always fun. Doing it with friends? Even better.

Having spent a good portion of the evening watching Jason relax and banter as he slowly fell into the rhythm of working with his old team, Tim is pretty sure he was right. This is what Jason needs. Hopefully, this is a start to building a safety net to catch him, if and when he falls.

Tim would do it himself in a heartbeat, but he might not always be here.

This is the next best thing.

“God damn it,” Jason mutters, making a face. “Did you really hafta compare me to B? That makes everything weird.”

Tim shrugs. Everything in their lives _is_ kind of weird. “I just think it’s a good idea to have friends and allies. Maybe you _can_ do everything alone—you’re incredibly skilled, intelligent, and amazingly talented at what you do. The thing is, you don’t _have_ to go it alone. There are people who’d be more than happy to help sometimes. When you could use a hand.”

It occurs to him that if the others hadn’t turned inward in their grief, pushing everyone who wasn’t a Bat away, and tried to solve everything on their own, maybe they wouldn’t have died—

Nope. Not going to go there. Tim forces his thoughts back into constructive channels. Jason is the one who is here now. Jason is the one he can save.

“But I have you,” Jason says, looking genuinely confused. “Why would I need anyone else?”

Tim stares at him, his mouth hanging open. He feels his cheeks flush, then remembers why he can’t get carried away by the sweetness of the sentiment behind that statement. “I might not always be here,” he reminds Jason gently.

He spins his chair back to face the computer and completely misses the expression of devastation that sweeps over Jason’s face at his words.

* * *

Tim is humming as he heads down the hall. Jason’s bedroom door is open and the scent of something delicious is wafting out of the kitchen. It feels right, living in the Nest. Wayne Manor will always have too many ghosts for them to spend much time there comfortably. It’s better now that it’s being put to good use housing orphans, including Micah and his little brother. The staff are all great, mostly former street kids themselves who Jason helped over the years. Now they want to give something back to their community and the Wayne Home for Youth is their chance.

Tim has a feeling that Bruce would approve.

He glances into the kitchen, then frowns slightly when all he sees is a single covered plate and a mug of coffee resting on the table at his spot. Usually he and Jason eat together. He eyes the plate consideringly, then decides to do some recon first. Breakfast just isn’t the same without his legs tangled together with Jason’s under the table.

Claiming his coffee and drinking deeply, he wanders down the hall to check the living room. No Jason there, either. Maybe he went out?

Tim ambles over to the secret access panel to the vigilante portion of the Nest. He’ll check downstairs. It’s always possible that Jason decided to get some training in or had a brainstorm about one of their cases. He heads down using the elevator. It’s too early for stairs.

Blinking sleepily, he reaches the main level and immediately spots Jason’s broad figure seated at the computer. Smiling, he moves forward to check out what he’s working on. The moment he sees the screen, he freezes, the smile sliding from his face.

It’s their old multiverse research, but… There’s more there now. Jason has clearly been working on it, adding data and extrapolating far beyond the point where they left off before. It looks like—

Tim swallows around a sudden, painful lump in his throat. Jason is actively trying to send him back. Does he want to get rid of him?

Jason has been doing better now that he has his friends again and more human connections in the form of the new Neon Knights program. Maybe he doesn’t think he needs Tim anymore. Or maybe he just wants to speed up the inevitable—after all, Tim is probably going to leave eventually, anyway. Why bother continuing to invest time and care into a relationship that’s doomed to end?

Of course Jason would want him to go. It’s an unexpectedly painful realization.

He bites his lip, then blurts out, “If you really wanted to be alone, you could’ve just told me—” He tries not to let the aching hurt make it into his voice. The unexpected rejection after so many losses burns.

Jason spins to face him, clearly startled. His eyes are wide and his hands rise defensively. A wave of pain crosses his handsome face, which is made more rugged and beautiful by the scars of what he’s survived than any Jason that Tim has ever known. “It’s not like that. Idiot.” He scowls, shifting his weight in his chair, and then sighs, scrubbing at his face with one large hand. “Not at all. Fuck, Tim, don’t be a dumbass. I’m trying to figure out if you’re stable now. If you shift again—how the _fuck_ am I supposed to survive losing _you,_ too?” His voice breaks and he swallows, blinking fast and clenching his jaw.

_Oh, shit. Yeah, okay, that makes way more sense than him trying to get rid of me. Whoops. Blame it on my mind only going at half-speed before breakfast and second coffee._

Tim doesn’t even think about moving. He just finds himself standing between Jason’s knees in front of the chair he’s seated in. He leans forward, plastering himself against Jason’s broad chest and wrapping his arms around those strong shoulders.

Jason is shaking. Tim squeezes him gently. “Shh, shh… I’m not going anywhere, you know that, right? Not if I can help it.”

Jason buries his face in Tim’s neck. His voice is hoarse as he whispers, “But what if you _can’t?”_

Tim has no answer. It’s the one question he has been avoiding pretty much since he got here. He shakes his head and holds on tighter, trying not to let himself wonder how long he’ll have this.

Whatever it is, it won’t be long enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Tim, blithely fixing every aspect of Jason’s life:** *Relocates him to rat-free environment, invites his friends over, and helps take care of his street-kid friends* “Yay!”  
>  **Jason, staring at him adoringly:** “Fuck you’re awesome” *Delves into multiverse data trying to learn more about Tim’s little dimensional incontinence problem to try to return the favor*  
>  **Tim, spotting the data and throwing a hand over his eyes melodramatically:** “You’re trying to send me away? How dare!” *Swoons on fainting couch which somehow appeared out of nowhere* “I gave you the best months of my life, you cad!”  
>  **Jason, so confused:** *Falls on his knees by Tim’s fainting couch and clutches his hands* “Wtf Tim, I was just checking to try to figure out how I can KEEP you here you raging dumbass”  
>  **Tim, magically revived and grinning at the revelation:** “Oh, yay! That’s way better than what I thought”  
>  **Jason, snorting:** “You haven’t had second coffee yet, have you?”  
>  **Tim, shaking his head, abashed:** “Nope. Best get on that” *Reaches over and activates lab coffee maker, which begins to sputter ominously as Jason eyes it suspiciously* “Yay, second coffee!”


	7. Chapter 7

“Hey, are the results ready yet for the analysis of Poison Ivy’s latest concoction?” Tim makes his way down the stairs, careful not to drop any of the things he’s carrying. “Here you go,” he says, sliding a cup of steaming tea onto the desk near Jason’s elbow. “Brought some of those cookies you made earlier, too.”

Alfred he is not—the faithful old retainer absolutely would have made the cookies himself, from scratch using only the best ingredients—but at least he tries.

Jason turns to him with a lopsided grin and a soft look in his gorgeous teal eyes. Tim feels an overwhelming urge to lean down and press a kiss to that smiling mouth. He bites his lip instead and turns away to set down the plate of cookies.

Then he hops up to sit on the desk by the food, relaxing and taking a drink from his own mug of fragrant, steaming coffee. “Ah,” he says appreciatively, swinging one leg up to rest his foot on the arm of Jason’s chair. Yeah, he’s definitely no Alfred.

Jason lifts his tea cup with one hand and takes a sip from it while he uses his other hand to key in a few commands on the computer. “Thanks, Baby Bird. It’s done. Uh, looks like the formula is actually pretty similar to something she tried a few years ago. See here?” He gestures toward the screen.

Tim tilts his head to study the chemical formula, nodding slowly as the program highlights the sections which are identical to a toxin Ivy used way back in Dick’s Robin days. “Huh, guess she’s recycling the classics. Cool. We can just start with the cure B developed back then and modify it accordingly.” He sighs, tension dissipating. This shouldn’t take long at all. Maybe they’ll actually be able to head to bed at a reasonable hour for once—

The air _flickers,_ reality winking in and out in a manner oddly reminiscent of an old tape skipping. Tim drops his coffee and leaps to his feet, his hands slapping soft fabric before he remembers that he already changed out of his suit. Jason spins, drawing a pair of batarangs as he rises out of his chair. His movements position his bulk protectively in between Tim and the soft shimmer they can see in the air.

The next second someone appears there, materializing before their eyes in the space of time between one heartbeat and the next. Tim sucks in a startled breath.

It’s Red Robin. At least, it’s someone who is wearing a uniform that looks very much like one of his suits while wielding a bo-staff in one of his standard defensive stances.

“Red?” Tim says softly, wishing he were armed. While he has had a great deal of experience dealing with alternate selves, there are a whole host of other potential explanations here. Time travel, impersonation, aliens, hallucinations induced by Ivy’s toxin—his mind flies, working out measures and countermeasures as each possibility occurs to him. There’s no telling who this really is.

“Wait, what?” Jason says, looking gobsmacked. He glances over his shoulder at Tim as though verifying for himself that he’s still there, then turns back to glare at the imposter. “Who the hell are you, and what are you doing here?”

“Hey,” Red Robin says, sounding cautious. He seems disoriented, his head tilting as though trying to follow the sounds of their voices. Tim realizes with a jolt that he looks like he’s been flash-blinded. He frowns, studying the intruder’s attire more carefully. There is an impressive array of weaponry tucked into his bandoliers and strapped onto seemingly every inch of his body.

“You look like you came prepared,” Tim says, part of him amused to note the similarity in their cautious, measured voices. “Got big plans?” Hopefully if this is an evil version of him, he’ll want to monologue and tell them all about his nefarious plot. That’s always convenient.

“Not really,” Red Robin says with a hesitant smile. He gradually straightens, apparently having decided that they aren’t an immediate threat. “I mean, I’d be okay with a cookie or two.” He eyes the double chocolate cookies on the table. His vision is recovered, then.

Well, there’s no telling whether he’s evil or not yet. Evil Tims don’t get cookies.

Tim narrows his eyes and steps in front of the cookies. “You obviously came prepared for something. Is that an electromagnetic pulse gun? And those modified grenades look _nasty.”_

Jason makes a small, surprised-sounding noise. “Why do those look like I made them?”

Red Robin grins. “You did. Well, the you in my universe did. He’s kind of overprotective.” He eyes them both carefully. “You know, usually I can tell right away just based on the ages, but that’s not working this time. Look, you guys wouldn’t happen to have known a Tim Drake who wasn’t native to this universe, would you?” He pauses, going still as they both tense. He stares right at Tim, his eyes widening with an expression that looks strangely like hope. “Or maybe—you _are_ him?”

Tim freezes and Jason growls, “What do you want with Tim?”

Red Robin coughs. “Nothing bad, I swear. Anyway, I’m going to push back the cowl now, okay?”

Neither of them moves as he slowly reaches up and slides back the cowl, revealing a very familiar face. Tim stares at him, searching for differences. Besides hair length—this guy looks like he could put his hair in a bun if he wanted—there isn’t much. “You’re the same age as me,” he says slowly. There’s a possibility rising in his mind, but it’s so unlikely as to be functionally impossible. He tries to shove it down, but the boxes in his mind are shaking and he can’t quite get this one to close.

“Of course I am,” Red Robin says, causing Tim to fail completely in his efforts. “I’m you, after all—or I was, until we used the doomsday reset device.”

“Holy shit,” Tim says faintly, his mind blown.

“Fuck,” Jason agrees. He slowly holsters his batarangs.

Tim takes a deep breath, staring at his alternate self—well, more than that, really. He stares at the other him, the Tim Drake who stayed in his original world and lived the life that once belonged to both of them. “I think we need to talk.”

By unspoken agreement, they take the cookies with them when they all head back upstairs.

“So, Tim says, perched on the couch next to Jason, who is still eyeing Red Robin warily.

Red Robin doesn’t seem to mind. He just picks up another cookie from the plate and bites into it with evident relish. Tim clears his throat. “You actually _followed me?_ How? Why?” He realizes a moment after the last question slips out that he already knows the answer to that one. 

Red lowers what’s left of his cookie and sighs. “I’ve been worried about you. Of course I found a way to come and find you. You’re _me,_ and you were lost somewhere in time in some other universe. When we tried to trace you and realized the device functioned differently than expected—” He shakes his head, looking pained. “It sucked. I’ve been looking for you ever since.”

Tim’s fingers dig into the couch as he asks the next question. He has spent the past ten years trying his damnedest not to think about this one. “So the rest of it worked okay? You went back a week and managed to save them?”

_Please, please let it have worked. I can’t have gone through all of this for nothing. I can’t._

Red’s eyes widen and he nods quickly. “Yeah, everything else went according to plan.” He closes his eyes, frowning with what Tim instantly recognizes as guilt. “I didn’t even realize things went wrong on your end, not until I told Bruce what I did and we started digging into the physics again.” He opens his eyes, sending Tim a troubled look. “We called Zatanna in to help. She’s the one who figured out there was a complication.”

“Yeah?” Tim’s voice hitches at the memory of waking up in a new universe over and over again. Complication. That’s one way to describe it. He feels a big, warm hand close over his. Jason, offering silent support. He twists his hand in Jason’s and clings like it’s all that’s anchoring him here in this universe.

Red’s gaze drops to their hands and he smiles before answering. “It turns out there was an element of magic woven into the function of the device. It was undetectable before it was activated—that’s why we missed it. Its presence threw off all of our calculations.”

“Wow,” Tim says, then huffs a mirthless laugh. He narrows his eyes and looks at his alternate self again. “But wait—you still haven’t said how you managed to track me down. It would have been difficult enough if I’d just stayed in one universe. Have you somehow figured out how to track me across multiple dimensions?”

“Yep,” Red says simply. “It was a lot of work, I had to call in a _lot_ of favors, and it’s entirely possible I’ve recruited an actual cadre of Bruces and invented a completely new branch of physics in the process.” He shrugs helplessly. “I couldn’t just leave you out there alone, never knowing what had happened to you.” Biting his lip, he meets Tim’s dumbfounded gaze squarely. “You know you would’ve done the same.”

Well, yeah. Obviously.

“Thanks,” Tim says, blinking back unexpected tears at the thought of Red and the others working together to find him and make sure he’s okay. Wait, others? “Wait, what did you mean by a cadre of Bruces?”

Red looks startled. “Oh, I’m supposed to let them know if I ever actually find you!” He reaches for his wrist computer and punches something into it. “There, I let the Bruce on duty know. He’ll probably swing by just to see for himself.” He chuckles and runs his fingers through his hair. “I can’t believe this is actually the end—I usually don’t get to where you’ve been until about a year or two after you’ve bounced again. I recruit the Bats there to help, we all get to work crunching the data and revising our calculations, and then I go after you only to miss and start again from scratch.”

Wow, that’s some impressive dedication. Then again, it’s him. Tim shouldn’t be surprised at his level of commitment to solving a problem.

Jason’s frowning. “What do you mean, you let the Bruce on duty know and he’s coming here?” His hand on Tim’s tightens.

Tim turns and checks on Jason and frowns when he sees his pained expression. He leans into his side, trying to comfort him. “Shh, Jay, it’s okay…”

Red is watching them, his brow furrowed in concern. “Tim, is Bruce—?”

Tim doesn’t have time to answer because at that moment, the air begins to flicker.

“Holy shit,” Jason says faintly, his grip tightening until the bones in Tim’s hand grind together. Tim just squeezes back. He doesn’t mind.

One moment the three of them are alone—the next, Batman is standing before them. They all freeze, just staring at each other, and then Batman reaches up and shoves back his cowl. “Tim?” he says, his voice rough and verging on desperate. “Oh my god, _Tim.”_

He jerks forward, stopping right in front of Tim and visibly checking him over for injuries before he drops to his knees and wraps his arms around him. “Son, I’m so sorry. I tried—we all tried. I managed to analyze the energy trace and parse out the signal for the universe you were in before ours. I hoped I might be able to reverse it—follow you to wherever you went when you disappeared—but it failed.”

“Bruce,” Tim says in a choked voice. He slowly wraps his arms around the man and returns the hug. He’s torn between feeling joy at being reunited with one of the Bruces he’s known and an awkward sense of embarrassment because he’s not totally sure which one this is. He has to be Clench-Bruce or Cataclysm-Bruce—they would both be close to the same age as the man before him. Darkseid-Bruce and the Bruce from his original universe would be a few years older by now.

Mystery Bruce continues to speak, his voice deep and shaking with suppressed emotion. “The boys helped, too. We even finished clearing the rubble out of the Cave to see if we could get any of the other multiverse tech working.”

“Cataclysm-Bruce!” Tim exclaims, pleased that he has narrowed it down.

Bruce pulls back slightly and looks at him, a mildly offended expression dampening the joy on his face.

Red snickers. “I told you guys he’d call you that! Nicknames would be the only way to keep track of so many alternates.”

Bruce looks deeply unimpressed.

Tim shrugs helplessly. “We can’t help the way our mind works. We’re obviously just made this way.” He smiles at Bruce, who’s still loosely embracing him. “Thanks for trying. It means a lot that you guys kept looking for me.”

It does. His heart is full to overflowing as he sits there, surrounded by people he loves from three different universes.

At his side, Tim feels Jason’s body shudder. He turns in concern and sees him staring at Bruce, an expression of mixed longing and fear on his face. “Oh, Jay,” he whispers, his heart twisting. It must be awful for him to see another version of his dead father out of the blue like this.

Bruce’s brows draw together and he glances between them. Tim sees the moment of realization when Bruce’s gaze locks on the Batsuit Jason is wearing. The man’s eyes widen and he looks quickly back at Jason’s face, staring at him searchingly. After a moment, an expression of pity and sorrow sweeps over his face. “Jaylad,” he says softly. “Oh, sweetheart, no.”

Jason makes a stifled noise that sounds suspiciously like a sob. Bruce glances at Tim, who nods and releases him. The man shifts until he’s kneeling in front of Jason instead. “Come here, son,” he says, opening his arms.

Blinking back tears, Jason just stares at him for a long moment, trembling slightly with suppressed emotion. All at once, his composure breaks. He lunges into Bruce’s arms. “Dad, I miss you so much,” he whispers, his voice catching on ragged, painful-sounding breaths. “You asshole.”

“I’m sorry, Jaylad, I’m so sorry. I never wanted you to have to wear that suit.”

“You—he asked us to. On his deathbed. He wanted the legacy of the cowl to go on.”

Bruce’s arms around Jason’s shoulders tighten and he clenches his jaw. “Then he and I were not in agreement on that point. I would do anything to spare my children the weight of the cowl.”

“It’s not—it’s not so bad. Now that Tim’s here, anyway. He made me realize how much it fuckin’ sucked to be alone.” Jason sniffs loudly and wipes his nose vigorously on Bruce’s shoulder.

Bruce looks mildly appalled even as he snorts, visibly stifling a grin. “I can’t believe you never grew out of that. You’ve done that ever since you were a child.”

Jason snorts wetly. “I thought you were going to get rid of me eventually, anyway, so I figured I might as well speed it up. You never stopped me or yelled at me for it, so I just kinda kept doin’ it.”

“You were testing my limits,” Bruce says fondly, then frowns, a wave of pain crossing his face. “I wish I had been able to keep you. Raise you to a man myself instead of you having to finish raising yourself because I failed you so terribly.”

Jason shakes his head, then pauses. “Fuck, B, this conversation is weird as hell. I mean, we literally just met. But…”

Bruce inhales deeply, then exhales, clearly thinking. “Over the years, my interactions with our various alternate selves while searching for Tim have shown that there is a tremendous amount of overlap between our experiences from universe to universe. I suspect the same to be true here.”

Jason narrows his eyes consideringly. “Oh yeah? Then what’s my favorite ice cream, food, and movie?”

“Neapolitan, chilidogs, and trick question—your favorite thing to watch is not actually a movie. It is the six-hour British Broadcasting Company miniseries adaptation of the classic novel _Pride and Prejudice_. We used to watch it together whenever you got sick and had to stay home from patrol. You swore me to secrecy for years because you were afraid Dick would find out and laugh at you. When he actually caught us watching it—as I recall, you were fourteen and home with the flu—all he did was throw himself down on the couch next to us and ask us to start it over from the beginning.” One corner of his mouth twitches into a slight smile at the memory.

Jason swallows, his eyes glistening. “Yeah, okay,” he says hoarsely. “Apparently the overlap’s pretty good here, too.” His face twists and he takes a shuddering breath. “B— _Dad—_ they’re all _gone_ —you all fuckin’ died and left me alone—!”

Bruce’s face twists in pain as he gathers Jason tenderly into his arms and cradles him close, shushing and rocking him like a small child. “Jaylad, my boy, my precious son—I’m sorry, so sorry for everything you’ve endured. I’m here now. I know it isn’t the same and won’t bring back your precious people, but I would like to visit here often and get to know you. I’m sure my children will all feel the same.”

In his arms, Jason sobs and buries his face in Bruce’s strong shoulder.

Tim’s eyes are searing and his throat is painfully tight. All he wants is to comfort Jason, too, but Bruce seems to have that well in hand. He glances up and sees Red Robin, who raises his eyebrows and tilts his head toward the elevator. Tim nods and they both slip out of the room to give the others a few minutes.

“Wow,” Red Robin says the moment the bedroom door closes behind them. He sighs and runs his fingers through his long, tousled hair, then gives Tim a tired smile. “That was intense.”

“Yeah,” Tim says, flopping down on the bed with a sigh. “Things are going to get weird from here on out, aren’t they?”

“Like they weren’t already weird before,” Red snorts, then tilts his head in thought. “I mean, if you consider having three Bruces fighting over who gets visiting rights to you and Jason, then yeah. Things are going to get weirder.” He chuckles. “Make that four Bruces. Ours will definitely want to get in on that too.”

Huh. Well, Tim’s pretty sure they’ll manage. They’ve dealt with stranger things, after all. “We can probably work out a timeshare,” he says thoughtfully, already planning a tentative schedule. He bites back a smile, warming rapidly to the idea of having alternate universe visitors every few weeks. That will still leave plenty of time for the projects he and Jason have been working on, as well as time for Jason to continue reconnecting with his old team.

At the thought of how happy Jason looked while working with Roy and Kori, Tim frowns and pushes back a stab of longing. He misses his own old team—of course he does. He hasn’t really reconnected with the Titans in the past few universes because they were always younger and had their own Tim around still. Here, the Titans are close to his age, and Tim-less. He could probably send a text right now and have Superboy flying in through the window within five minutes. It’s a tempting thought. He sighs, trying to put the idea out of his mind.

It just isn’t fair to insert himself into their lives when he might disappear again without notice. He can’t help feeling wistful, though. 

“What’s that look for?” Red studies him narrowly. “You’re planning to deny yourself something for the greater good again, aren’t you?” He rolls his eyes. “Wow, we’re surprisingly easy to read.”

“Only to ourselves,” Tim grumbles, feeling unfairly judged. “I was just thinking about how best to handle things here. I mean, I might disappear again at any moment. It’s all well and good to make plans, but no one should count on my being part of any of it long-term.” He closes his eyes, then snaps them open again at Red’s next words.

“Oh my god—I’m sorry. I thought you’d realized, that you’d have come to the same conclusion we did. Stupid—I should have realized you obviously didn’t have access to all the data we have.” Red shakes his head, looking deeply regretful as he continues in a gentle voice, “You’re done. Tim, you’re stable now. You aren’t going to slip into another universe again.”

It’s only when Red’s image starts to blur that Tim realizes he’s crying. His other self sits down on the bed next to him and gathers him in his arms, whispering comforting words in his ear. After a minute, Tim sniffs and then snickers wetly. “You guys must be really popular at parties—you haven’t been here an hour and you’ve already made both of your hosts cry.”

“Sorry,” Red grins and squeezes him one last time before sitting back. “At least it’s happy tears.”

Tim shrugs and sits up, rubbing at his eyes. “Fair.” He just breathes for a moment and allows his counterpart’s assurance to settle in his mind. “You’ll give me the data before you leave?” He probably won’t be able to really believe it’s true until he sees the numbers for himself.

“Of course!” Red’s face lights up. “Oh, and there’s more. Zatanna and B managed to figure out some details about the magical element involved in the reset device, if you’re interested.” He laughs at Tim’s pissy expression. “Fine, yes, you’re interested. I don’t know why I even bothered to ask.”

“Obviously,” Tim says, still eyeing Red like he’s questioning his intelligence. Of _course_ he is interested—they are both Tim Drake; how could he even question it?

Red rolls his eyes, clearly following his thoughts. “Anyway. So, as far as we can tell, the magic attached to the device selects universes based on the user’s life experience—their worst experiences, compounded by their greatest fears. That’s why you got sent to places dealing with the Clench outbreak, Cataclysm, and the period of time after the Darkseid incident when everyone thought we were going crazy because we insisted Bruce was alive.”

“Oh,” Tim says softly, processing that. It makes sense. After all, he’s noticed that the various calamities happening in the different universes he has spent time in appear to coincide with traumatic events from his own past. He’d just figured it was a coincidence. He’s had a particularly eventful life with an overabundance of awful things happening in it, after all.

Then he frowns. “Wait, so why did I come here? All of the other universes I went to were going through awful moments from my life, just amplified. This place is different—it’s more like someone else’s future than anything from my past.”

His counterpart shrugs and looks away. His lips press together in a tight, unhappy line. He closes his eyes, then opens them as he turns to face Tim. “Tim. Haven’t you noticed? _This_ is our biggest fear of all—carrying on as Batman alone because everyone else is dead.”

They both flinch.

“But,” Tim says, then has to stop. He swallows before he tries to speak again. “It’s Jason who’s Batman here. Not a Tim. Shouldn’t I have been sent to a universe where _I_ was the one left behind?”

His counterpart sighs and scrubs a hand through his already-tousled hair, looking dissatisfied. “We’re pretty sure a strong component of the spell is that wherever you’re sent, there’s at least some chance for you to fix things, if only in a small way. After all, that’s what the physics professor who went rogue and made this device intended it for. He wanted a chance to go back and set things right in his own life. I mean, clearly he seriously screwed up the details, but that’s what it was meant to do. It’s supposed to be for fixing what went wrong. I don’t think it would send you somewhere that was beyond hope of redemption or repair.”

Tim nods slowly, his chest tightening as he thinks through the implications. “You believe I was sent here because it was the closest match to my greatest fear where there was still a chance I could make things better somehow.”

Red nods. “Yep. I mean, we both know what happens when you and I get left alone with the cowl.”

Memories of an evil, gun-toting Batman fill his mind and he winces. Evil Batman Tim would be beyond his ability to fix or help. He feels a quick surge of gratitude that the magic didn’t end up sending him somewhere like that.

Red gives him a shaky smile. “Exactly. Does it all make sense now?”

The crazy thing is, it almost does. Tim nods thoughtfully. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“So,” Red says after a minute, eyeing him in a measuring way. “What’s up with you and Bat-Jay? How long have you guys been dating?” He raises an eyebrow, then smirks wickedly. “You guys ever do it with the suit on?”

“Oh my god,” Tim whispers, blushing until his whole face feels hot all the way to the tips of his ears. “We’re _not.”_ Although… If he’s really here to stay, then maybe he can think about trying to change that. If Jason’s even interested, that is.

Red looks surprised. “Really? I thought that would have happened by now. I mean, the two of you seemed pretty cozy out there. You’re clearly living together, patrolling as partners, you seem very affectionate—” He chuckles ruefully. “And I happen to know for a fact that you’ve always had a massive soft spot for him.”

Well, it’s not like he can lie to himself. “I mean, obviously. Not that it matters. Why are we talking about our huge, suppressed crush on Jason, again?”

Red’s eyes narrow speculatively. “Well—actually, I’ve got plenty of experience now that says Jason is very into us, too. Literally, in my case.” He gives a surprisingly filthy grin and winks.

“Hold on, what?” Tim blinks, processing, then leans forward, his eyes wide. “Really? You actually ended up with _Jason?_ How did _that_ happen?” He thinks about the way he and Jason were, back in his original universe, and tries to imagine what might have brought them together. “Did you guys gradually grow closer over years of working together, eroding his resentment bit by bit as he slowly grew to see you as an actual person rather than a physical embodiment of the trauma he associates with his own violent death and subsequent replacement?”

Red blinks at him. “Uh, sort of? Not really.” He blushes and looks down, squirming. “There was an incident a couple years after you and I split from each other. It involved an alien ray gun that created a telepathic connection between everyone who was hit by it. Jason and I were both inundated with each other’s thoughts, from _I want coffee_ to _damn, Replacement’s lookin’ fuckin’ fine today—I really wanna bend him over that desk and then buy him breakfast.”_

Tim chokes on surprised laughter. “Wow. That’s hilarious. Well, at least you got together in the end, and the attraction was reciprocal so the whole experience wasn’t as humiliating as it could’ve been.” He shudders, imagining being mentally linked to someone only to find out his attraction was unrequited. Yikes, what a thought.

Red snorts. “Oh yeah? When I said everyone who was hit by the ray gun was telepathically linked, I meant it. The mental link included not only me and Jason, but also Bruce, Dick, Damian, and one _very confused_ criminal henchman. It was the most awkward twenty-four hours of my life. Why are you laughing? Stop laughing at my mental suffering!”

“Fine,” Tim says, then takes one look at his other self and promptly bursts into laughter again. “Sorry,” he says, breathless from laughing so hard. “I just can’t stop picturing B’s face.”

“Yeah, it was ridiculous.” Red shakes his head, grinning, then sobers slightly. “So—what do you want to do next?” He looks more serious than he has since he landed here.

Tim studies him, puzzled at the change in mood. “What do you mean?”

“Do you want to come home? Or, you could go back to any of the other universes you travelled through—they’d all love to have you. Or…” Red is regarding him with a soft, knowing smile now. “You could always just stay here.”

With his words, Tim comes to a realization. He smiles as it settles, leaving him feeling comfortable and content. He gets to choose. Finally, after all this time, he has a real say in his future. There’s no question what his answer will be.

“I’m staying here,” he says simply, happiness welling up at the thought that for the first time, he can say that and know for a fact that it’s _true._

Red grins back. “I thought so.”

* * *

The air flickers and then Bruce and Red are gone, back safe and sound in their own universes. They can’t leave their own worlds for very long at such short notice, so they were only able to stay for a few hours. They left with the promise that they’ll be back for another visit soon.

Tim’s shoulders are still tingling with the memory of their arms wrapped around him. The apartment seems to echo with the sound of their parting words and Red’s joyous laughter.

“Well, that was insane,” Jason says, standing so close to Tim that their arms are touching. He stares into space for a moment, then turns to face Tim. His eyes are red and his face is a little flushed, the only sign that he spent the better part of the evening crying and having a heart to heart with an alternate universe version of his dead father.

Tim is pretty sure that he doesn’t look any better. He inhales, feeling his breath shudder slightly as he tries to take a deep, calming breath. “Yeah,” he says, then reaches up to scrub a hand over his face. “I can’t believe that really happened,” he says wonderingly. “They all worked so hard to find me.”

Jason smiles at him. “Thank fuck they did. That data they brought—fucking best news I’ve ever gotten. God _damn,_ Baby Bird, do you have any idea how terrifying it’s been? Sometimes I get scared I’ll wake up and you’ll just be gone. Once, I turned around on patrol and you weren’t right there behind me. I fuckin’ panicked before I heard your voice from an alley and realized you’d just dropped down to kick someone’s ass.” He shakes his head, letting out a shaky breath. “And now you’re _safe.”_ His face twists with emotion.

Tim just stares at him, his mouth hanging open. He’d known Jason was having some trouble with the idea of him leaving eventually, but it hadn’t occurred to him that it was causing this level of distress. “Jay, no—I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. I can promise that now.” He smiles.

“You… aren’t?” The question slips out of Jason jerkily, like it’s being pulled. He stares at his feet. “I mean, Cataclysm B told me. Uh, that now you can go wherever you want. Back to any of the other universes, or—” His voice breaks painfully.

It hurts to hear him sounding so resigned and sad. Tim leans in and wraps his arms around the taller man, wishing he could bring them even closer somehow. “I didn’t realize he mentioned that to you or I would have said something about it earlier. Jay, I’m staying here. This is where I want to be.” _With you,_ he thinks, but isn’t brave enough to say.

“Are you sure?” Jason asks, his voice gruff. “I saw your face when you talked to them. Tim, I know there are people you love back there. I know this world doesn’t have much compared to that.” He sounds heartbroken, resigned, and Tim snaps.

“It has you,” he says fiercely, burying his face in Jason’s neck and breathing in his familiar, clean scent. His fingers press into Jason’s strong, broad shoulders. “You’re someone I love, and you’re right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

It isn’t until Jason stiffens in his arms that he realizes what he just said. Whoops. Tim winces, hoping this isn’t going to make things awkward.

“You love me?” Jason murmurs, his hands finally rising to slip tentatively around Tim’s waist and skim along his sides and lower back. “You—really?” His handsome face lights up with an expression that looks a lot like hope.

Tim blushes but answers honestly. “I do.” Then, just in case it wasn’t clear before, he adds, “romantically. Like, I want to do everything with you we already do right now, but also with kissing and only one bed.” He hesitates, wilting slightly as Jason just stares at him. “Do… you want that, too?”

Jason continues to stare at him for a moment, gobsmacked, then grins devilishly. “Fuck yeah, I do!” He pauses, his head tilting. “Why does it feel like we just got married?” He squeezes Tim again and snickers.

“I think dating is more than enough for right now.” Tim bites his lip and then laughs shakily. “I didn’t want to _have_ this, have _you_ if we were just going to lose each other—”

Jason’s voice is rough as he answers. “I know. I felt the same. God, Tim, I’ve wanted you for so long. You showed up here outta the blue, like an answer to a prayer I never made ‘cause I didn’t believe anyone was listening.” He presses a soft, reverent kiss to Tim’s temple and then stays like that, breathing him in.

Tim just holds him, reveling in the fact that this is real. They can actually have this. He’s going to be in a relationship with Jason. It feels unreal. Actually… There’s probably a reason for that surreal feeling. After all, he hasn’t exactly spent the past decade jumping in and out of bed with people. Far from it.

He winces, then feels impelled to be completely honest. Jason should know what he’s getting into here. “Uh, I should probably tell you—I haven’t actually been in a real relationship since I was seventeen. It was too busy in the first universe, and then… Well. After I started uncontrollably falling through the multiverse, I figured it wouldn’t be fair to anyone to start something serious.” He shrugs, feeling uncomfortably exposed. “So, I, uh… don’t have much experience since this all started.”

He makes himself look back at Jason, and is surprised to see him looking… relieved?

“I, uh, haven’t been in many relationships, either,” Jason admits, his big hands slowly rubbing Tim’s back. “Some dates when I was a teenager, hookups after I came back. Once people around me started dying, it just seemed better not to put myself out there like that anymore. Safer.”

Tim nods slowly. From the sound of it, he’s a little more experienced with actual relationships than Jason, and Jason might have a bit more knowledge on the physical side of things.

Well, they can work with that.

He reaches down until he finds one of Jason’s hands. Taking it in his, he lifts it and presses a kiss to one of the scars on his knuckles. Someday, he promises himself, he’s going to kiss every single scar on the other man’s skin. “So,” he says softly, looking at Jason’s face and shivering at the intent, hungry look there. “Does that mean you want to take things slow?”

Jason just looks at him, a smirk slowly growing on his handsome face. “It probably means we _should,”_ he says in a voice laden with intent. He leans forward, his hands tightening on Tim’s back and hand. “But I don’t wanna.” He bends and presses a gentle, searching kiss to Tim’s lips.

Tim makes a highly embarrassing noise and squirms, his _everything_ lighting up at the delicious sensation of Jason’s thick, hard body pressing into him as their mouths move against one another.

He loses track of time as the soft, thorough kisses continue, Jason’s big hands exploring his body as they move together. When Jason finally pulls back and looks down at him with a pleased, satisfied grin, all Tim can do is stare at him, blinking hazily.

“So, Baby Bird, whaddaya say? You still wanna take it slow?”

Tim rolls his eyes and reaches for Jason. “Hell, no!” He then proceeds to climb the other man like a goddamn tree.

Jason gasps in surprise but quickly catches on, using his arms to support Tim’s thighs as they wrap around his waist. “Holy shit,” he says faintly, then clears his throat. “Bedroom?”

“Bedroom,” Tim agrees. He’s waited long enough. They both have.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Tim and Jason, hanging out in comfortable domesticity:** *Willfully ignore the fact that Tim might be ripped away at any moment* “Life’s pretty damn okay right now!”  
>  **Red Robin, dropping into their universe in a flurry of good news and Bruces:** “Yo” *Immediately proves that Tim is no longer falling through the multiverse, also eats all their marshmallows*  
>  **Tim, so relieved about the multiverse news that he forgives him for the marshmallow thing:** “Yay!” *Turns to Jason and confesses his love*  
>  **Jason, overjoyed:** *Reaches for Tim, turns questioningly toward Red* “You stickin’ around for this part, buddy? I mean, I got nothin’ against a threesome—”  
>  **Red, snickering:** “I’ve got my own Jason to get home to, but you two have fun!”  
>  **Tim and Jason, already in the process of consummating their relationship:** “Will do!”  
>  **Cataclysm Bruce, sitting forgotten on the couch next to them:** “I suppose I’ll be going then” *Awkwardly tries to free his arm from behind their backs so he can activate his portal device and go home. Pauses before leaving, frowns. Tucks Bat-condom into each of their pockets*  
> *  
> Thank you so much to everyone who has given kudos or commented, and thanks to the marvelous mods over at Jaytim Week for all their hard work running this event! Also, thanks to the [Capes & Coffee Tim Drake discord server](https://discord.gg/bGhpCDn) for being a supportive place while I was writing this, and for helping vote when I couldn’t decide between two titles for this story. 
> 
> Tremendous thanks again to [thelampofthemoment](https://thelampofthemoment.tumblr.com/) for their lovely, poignant [prompt](https://thelampofthemoment.tumblr.com/post/189023729490), which reads:
> 
> _‘Can we get an AU where one of the bats gets sent to a world where Jason is Batman but instead of being the Murder Batman™ it’s 30 year old Jason who’s amazingly competent and smart but he’s also exhausted, scarred and sad._   
>  _It’s a Jason who lost his entire family to this lifestyle until he felt he didn’t have a choice but to take up the cowl because they all promised Bruce on his death bed that somebody would because he never imagined that he’d be the only one left to do it.’_
> 
> I hope I did it justice. Thanks once more to Nanimok for showing me that prompt, and to all the lovely people on discord who encouraged me to write it.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the story, and thanks for reading!


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